


A Storm Can Protect

by EmilysRose



Series: A Storm [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BAMF!Stiles, Beta3!, Cannon style violence, Derek is emotionally constipated, Durach, Even though he's with Kira, Eventually there will be lots o sex, F/F, F/M, Hayden and Erica are bad ass bitches, I hate Theo, M/M, Magic, Magic!Stiles, Nemeton, Off-screen Relationship(s), Original Character(s), Past Relationship(s), Peter the Creeper, Scott is pining for Allison, Scott/Stiles bro love, Slow Burn, Stile/Lydia friendship, The beast - Freeform, Warring packs, Werewolves, alpha pack, mild drug use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-20
Updated: 2017-07-25
Packaged: 2018-11-02 20:32:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 29,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10952193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmilysRose/pseuds/EmilysRose
Summary: The Hale Pack and the McCall Pack have been at each others throats since Derek moves back to Beacon Hills and Peter bit the True Alpha Scott. For years they've been unable to settle their differences even with the help of an emissary and the Nemeton has gone unsealed, drawing the power of every supernatural creature that can feel it. With the looming threat of the Alpha Pack coming, a new emissary is decided to ally the packs--only Stiles Stilinski and his apprentice Mason Hewitt are terrible peace keepers.Or.A powerful archane mage with a nigitsune spirit and a teenager with an ancient homicidal wolf alter ego try to get Derek and Scott to stop bickering.





	1. A Storm Comes

_Well, Teen Wolf and the sterek ship r pretty much dead in the water. I havent found a better OTP so fuck it, sterek all the way. Long Live the Ship!_

 

  **CHAPTER ONE.A STORM COMES**

* * *

* * *

* * *

Deaton was losing his patience. It was hard to tell with Deaton but Scott had been working with the man for two years now and he’d learned to read the signs: Deaton’s usually passive face would go serene and his smell would turn inhuman, like ozone meeting sea-brine. It would happen whenever there as a complication during surgery, or they had to put down an animal, his voice half whisper and half sermon as he spoke Rainbow Road and stroked fur with delicate fingers. Where most people grew sad, frustrated, or angry… Dr. Deaton turned into a zen master.

Scott had never seen it here, during the monthly peace-treaty meetings. Dr. Deaton would just listen to the yelling and growling and fighting between the Hale and McCall packs while inserting his soothing words and mediating suggestions. _Why don’t you drink the tea I made for you Liam, it does wonders for moon anger_ , he’d say. _I know you are frustrated, Malia, but where is your anger coming from? You do not know Hayden well enough to be this upset with her. How are you studies in school going?_ He’d say. All just barely above the sounds of arguing the two packs made.

Scott watched as Deaton lit insent sticks and hummed under his breath. Scott knew what that meant. He ordered a sharp bark to Liam so he would stop bickering with Jackson across the long table. The McCall pack fell in silence quickly, turning to look at him in confusion. It took a while but eventually the Hale pack did, too. Soon they were all watching their humming Emissary turn back to face them, voice low and smooth as he spoke, “I have been working steadfast for two years—” Scott found himself looking towards Kira, who was worrying her lip, “in an attempt to calm the strife between the two packs of Beacon Hills—”

“Wouldn’t be two packs if the McCalls just realized they have no ownership over _Hale_ lands.” Erica said sweetly.

“The Hales died.” Hayden shock back, eyes flashing at Boyd’s subvocal warning growl. Derek silenced Boyd with a hand, gripping the bigger man’s neck in a possessive, controlling move that had Scott wincing. As if feeling his stare, Derek turned heavy red eyes to meet his own, a daring challenge, before releasing Boyd’s neck and crossing his arms over his chest again. Scott looked away. “The only ones who survived decided to leave. Not that they did that good of a job when they were here—”

“Who? Whose supposed to protect it? You’re a six month old pup.” Lydia said. She sat with Allison at the end of the long table—long considered neutral territory—and didn’t even look up from Allison’s nails. She only spoke up to correct statements and seemed to find the entire treaty meetings unbelievably boring. “Plus, the Hales did a fantastic job before they all died. And there was nothing to really defend against before Derek came back and Allison’s family moved here and Scott was turned.”

“Peter—” Kira tried.

Allison interrupted. “My family wouldn’t have moved back here if Peter hadn’t—”

Malia snarled and only Isaac stopped her from launching across the table with full claws and teeth.

“The winds of change are here.” Deaton said, voice loud and zen enough to get all of their attention. His face was perfectly blank. “A murderer was brought before a king to be sentenced and the king said, ‘put three hundred knives into him’. When it was done the soldiers came to the king and announced the murderous man was not dead. ‘Put three hundred more knives into him’. Still, the soldiers came back and said the man was not dead. ‘Grab three hundred of the sharpest knives in the kingdom that you can find’. That,” Deaton said solemnly, “is how you are dealing with these negotiations. You ruminate on the past, looking for more and more weapons, deadly, sharp, hateful actions and words to wound and maim. You suffer as your victim suffers and in the end the suffering spreads and spills to us all, looping over and over. A chicken and egg lost in each other.”

Total silence met his words. He bowed his head. “The Emissary Delegation brought me here in the hopes that I as a healer could stop your suffering. That I could align your packs in treaty so that the nemeton could be bound and Beacon Hills would be safe. After two years, it has been decided that you don’t need a healer, you need a weapon’s expert.”

“I swear to god, every time this guy speaks its gibberish,” Jackson said, throwing up his hands.

“Actually, it’s Buddist.” Lydia said thoughtfully. She’d finally looked up from Allison’s nails, the girl’s fingers still held in her own. Scott tried not to think of how pretty the blue color was on the huntress’s slender fingers. He looked to Kira instead, who was staring down at the table, still worrying her lip.

“I’m Catholic.” She said, defending herself to no one.

“Your sending someone to attack us.” Derek said. He looked ready to attack himself, eyes flashing back and forth between alpha red and normal. Sometimes Scott thought that half of the Hale pack problems stemmed from Derek’s lack of control over his wolf side. The man was damaged, struggling for control, a new wolf unused to his powers; it made him dangerous and toxic to his own pack’s bonds. Scott would have conceded control over the land just to end all the fighting—except he couldn’t begin to image what it would be like if someone so damaged was connected to the nemeton.

“No.” Deaton said. “I am simply brining in an Emissary who is… unconventional to our ways. He is bound to my order with oaths and while he may want to cause intended trouble he won’t be able to. There is also word that the Alpha Pack is coming and he will be a better service in defending the town than I. Maybe he can even bring you to an agreement. I have heard the has a certain love for arguments.”

Scott frowned at his mentor. At his next shift he’d have to ask Deaton if he planned on leaving Beacon Hills.

The Emissary reached into his pocket and grabbed his phone. It was an old flip phone that had probably been flagship in the early 2000’s… and yet, it still looked too modern in his hands. Scott had seen him deal with high-tech x-ray machines and little scalpels that did surgery inside the body, but anything else was weird. “He was supposed to call earlier in the meeting. I will call him now.”

“I can’t believe we’re even arguing over this. We should just kill them all now.” Malia snarled as the phone rang. “It’s only three wolves and that fox.”

“Scott is a true Alpha.” Boyd said.

At the same time Liam snarled. “Try it. I can take you any day.”

Someone answered the phone. Deaton put it on speaker for the humans and the less-sensitive in the room. “Um, what? Hello?” A groggy, deep voice asked. “Who—fuck me. Its four in the morning. Whoever the fuck you are—”

“Stiles.” Deaton said, his voice at his most serene.

“What’s a Stiles?” Lydia asked.

“A me.” The voice on the phone snapped. “Who the fuck is this?”

“Alan Deaton, second tier druid of the Emissary Alliance. I was expecting your call earlier.”

“What? Yeah? Okay. Cool.” Scott frowned as he heard something faint and soft on the other end of the line. A rustling hardly picked up over the speaker. A sleepy sound. A male voice asking tiredly ‘who is it’. “Work, babe. Go back to sleep.”

“We have a lab in an hour, Stiles.” A bed crea1ked and there was a soft groan. No one on the other end spoke until a door opened and the wind crackled on the speaker.  Across the table, Boyd and Erca were speaking softly to each other. Jackson was on his phone and Hayden and Liam were giving each other that look that said they were thinking about bed and each other in it. Deaton stood over it all, a serene onlooker.

Over the phone there was a clicking sound like a lighter, then a heavy inhale. The man over the phone said, “The packs there?”

“Yes.” Deaton said.

“Al-right.” The Stiles drawled. “I’m Stiles—no that’s not my real name at all. No, you can’t know my real name. You must unlock friendship level 3 to even guess at it. I’m a Level 3-B Emissary. Basically it means that I’m like, super powerful and godly and shit and no one can compare to my awesomness unless there name happens to be an alliteration like Brune Banner or Wade Wilson. It also means don’t piss me off.”

“What’s the B stand for, asshole?” Jackson asked.

“It means don’t piss me off. Anyway, I’m coming in a week. Try not to kill each other till then. Or do. I don’t care, either way it’ll make my life easier.” He hung up.

Scott looked down at the phone. When he looked up he made eye contact with Derek Hale, who looked just as confused and offended and worried as Scott felt. Scott wondered who they were trading Deaton for. What kind of man he was. How he was even an Emissary—weren’t they supposed to be peace-loving and kind? When Scott looked back up at Deaton he noticed the man’s smile, happy and satisfied, as his zen gaze skimmed over the two packs. “I will be here for the remainder of the month to set up my affairs and see how things go.” If a man like Alan Deaton could look vindicated, this would be the expression.

The phone lay open on the table. It reminded Scott of a knife

* * *

 


	2. The Calm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Setting up the plot and character for a nice sllooowww burn. Action is a comin'.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I said in the last chapter that everyone but Mason, Liam, and Hayden wouldn't be in highschool? I lied. I have no idea how I would get all these character int the same room without good old mandatory education.

**CHAPTER TWO__THE CALM [insert cliche here]**

* * *

* * *

* * *

* * *

"All I'm saying is that we shouldn't be going to school--"

Lydia rolled her eyes, opening her locker with her knuckles so she wouldn't damage her acrylics. "And why wouldn't we go to school?" She studied herself in the mirror Allison had given her after prom. Her hair was up in a braid, all the peaces that were left to float around her face were in their right places, looking soft enough that it wasn't obvious she'd hairsprayed them to perfection. Her makeup today was minimalist--just the usual contouring, eye shadow, mascara, eyeliner, and brow work. She'd felt like she'd been missing something--ah.

She grabbed the lipstick in a little tray attached below the mirror. Lydia had destroyed the last mirror, an old heirloom of her grandmother's. It use to hang in the woman's room in Eichan House, an old, tinny, gilded mirror that looked gaudy and gorgeous compared to the concrete walls and bland greys. A perfect reflection of Lydia's locker itself, trading concrete for metal. She'd loved how the background always looked washed out compared to the reflection of Lydia's face, haloed by old gold and amber and bronze swirls. She missed that mirror. When she'd shattered it her first day back after prom, the sounds of it shattering, like a torrent of wind, of snarling, of shattering bones had seemed like finality. A new beginning. It had scared her, just like looking in the mirror to see the new fragility she'd seen under her careful makeup had scared her. Like the bruises and the slowly healing wounds that would become scars, had scared her.

The new mirror was better.

"I'm just saying it's fucked up we have to go to school with  _them_. It's damn hard to concentrate with their smell all over everything." Jackson snarled. 

"You've been going to school with Scott, Liam, and Hayden since elementary school," She said absently. Mac's Ruby Woo would look good today. It contrasted well with her floral jumper. She rolled it around her lips, wishing she'd also brought the right shade of lip-liner. She rolled her lips as Jackson took his time with his constantly convoluted thoughts, snarling over at something she couldn't see with her back to the hall. Probably the McCall pack-as always. He was never not snarling about them these days.

She looked herself over. She looked good. Of course. Her eyes jumped up, to the etching at the top of the mirror that said  _Someone could be falling in love with your smile_  and felt the smile tug at her lips.The quote made up for the simplicity of the mirror's frame, for it's small size, for it's obvious cheapness. It was the best mirror she'd ever owned, the first gift she'd ever gotten from her best friend. One that had made her tear up a little when she'd been handed it. 

"But it's different now." Jackson said. Kira passed by in the mirror, pig-tail braids, her pleated skirt and thigh high combo. She waved nervously at Lydia through the mirror. 

Lydia nearly dismissed what Jackson was saying out of habit. She put the lid back on her lipstick, thoughtful as she put it back. Things were actually different. Everything was different. High school had changed everything. It was more complicated than suddenly worrying about the future, which college she would get into, how she would keep in touch with her friends when they all inevitably split up to start their adult lives. The change was more sinister. She, in the core of her being, had death in her now. She knew the stress of getting blood out of her favorite clothes. Of what it was like to feel fear when her phone rang because one of her friends could be dead or dying. She knew the stench of fresh blood and brain matter and knew immediately what it was like to smell when someone's intestinal sack had ruptured--a smell worse than shit permeating the air. She had seen, and witnessed, and felt more than any highschooler she knew. And it was getting harder and harder to fake the innocence she once had. 

A girl was standing next to her, trying to get things out of her backpack. She was trying to convince her friend to watch a show on Netflix. "It's so  _good_ \--"

"But I'm not ready." The friend said, laughing.

"Why? I mean, seriously, you'd love it. It's right up your alley. I mean, _Lito--Hernando_." She fake swooned, shoulder clanging against the locker.

"Yeah, exactly!" The friend threw her hands up. "I can't get committed to a show right now. I'd end up staying up all night watching it, and be tired for work. And read way too much fan fiction, and get all emotionally attached." They started walking as the locker closed, heading off to class. "It's a vicious cycle I'm not ready to start right now."

"No way. I've been wanting to talk to you about this show for so long. We have to marathon it tonight. Then we'll decide who will be in our cluster and--"

"Lydia." A warning. A tenseness that took her out of her enjoyment of watching strangers enjoying their lives and brought her back into her own. As unpleasant as cold water, really. She turned to look at Jackson, then followed his gaze as the doors at the end of the hall opened. Two twins walked in, identical down to their leather jackets and smirks. They drew a lock of attention as they sauntered down the hall towards the office. She knew they had to be wolves. Almost every 'wolf had that same look. The good looks, the confidence, the better-than-average physique. The twins were no different. "Alphas." Jackson got closer to her, blocking her from them as they passed. One twin, the closest, turned, his eyes trailing over Lydia in the usual leer most men gave her. Only his gaze felt more possessive, more demanding than she'd ever felt before. A shiver ran down her spine--but they passed without saying a word. "We need to call Derek." He already had his phone to his ear. "Fucking high school."

Lydia watched till the twins disappeared around the corner. A new threat then. One that would probably end badly for almost everyone. It burned at her that they showed up here, infiltrating the school. It was the center of the neutral ground of Beacon Hills, become both packs needed to be here. Before--before McCall, before werewolves--she used to think of the school as nothing more than a mandatory stepping stone to MIT, a place she'd get out of as soon as she could. Now, it was the safe haven. A place that all her friends were, a place that demanded safeness between the hours of 8 to 4, at least. It was one of the only guaranteed times of peace she got. Bad memories stained the walls here, like any other place in Beacon Hills, but somehow when everyone was milling around in the halls, and there were girls talking about shows they wanted to watch--there was a thin veneer of safety in the dark, werewolf world.

"Derek, there are two Alphas here--no I don't recognize their scent--yeah. No, yeah. But-- _Derek_." He walked off, probably heading towards his pack without a look back. She'd been the one to cure him of being a kanima. Her love had been the one to save him--but it was the pack that sustained him. They were the family he'd been looking for since his parents had told him he was adopted. They were the unconditional loyalty and love he could see, smell, hear, and touch every day without question. And while Lydia did love him, she knew somehow that they wouldn't last. They'd never been good for each other.

She found Danny walking to class and joined him, putting her arm in his as they walked. "Trouble?" He asked.

"Always." 

He nodded. "Do I wanna know?"

She gaze him a sharp glare. "You already do." She patted him gently on the cheek, not swayed by his pretend ignorance. He was a smart boy. He'd been almost directly attacked by Jackson when he was a Kanima and he, like everyone else, recognized the strange body count that was racking up in Beacon Hills. Can could put two and two together.

"Doesn't mean I want to." He said pleasantly. He walked her directly to her seat before sitting next to her. A new teacher was at the board, writing her name. She set up her things for English, watching the brunette turn and introduce herself as Miss Blake, a pretty lady, if a little fashion awkward.

"Are there any questions about me?" She asked pleasantly, clapping her hands, a clap that sounded like a thunderous roar of birds wings. Lydia shook the sound out of her head as the class stayed quiet. "Alright. Let's start with..." she trailed off, looking a little lost. "Where did you leave off with your old teacher?"

Lydia grabbed her phone, seeing a few new texts she'd missed. She let the class wash over her, knowing there was nothing being talked about that she didn't already know, typing back and forth to Allison, who was stuck in art. The huntress was complaining about not being able to take more than two PE electives a day.

A loud splat hit the window. A boy sitting nearest to it screamed. She turned to see a cloud of black coming straight towards her, blocked only by the windows and the blood smeared directly eye level with her head. The cloud moved erratically, the edges of it showing the flapping of it's multiple wings. She squinted her eyes, trying to find out what--strong arms grabbed her and she was ducked into a warm body. Glass shattered. People screamed. There was the loud sound of birds and flapping and crying. But Boyd seemed determined to block her from it, holding her with his massive frame for the long minutes it took for the birds to either die or panic and leave. When it was done, when it was obvious that it was over, Boyd released her. His stoic face watching a crow flop around on the ground, trying to fly with glass in its left wind, screeching out its pain. "Ever heard of birds doing that?" He asked.

"Ever heard of deer running straight into car windshield?" She asked, thinking of last night when she'd grabbed Allison from her house, all sun kissed and new after a summer in France. Her car was still in the shop.

Boyd frowned harder, helping her get up. "Any... you know. Senses?" 

She shot him a glare. "I am not psychic." She spat, turning and walking away. She glanced over and the new teaching, Miss Blake, who was sputtering and looking around at the chaos of her classroom. She looked scared, bewildered. A feather was stuck in her hair and scratched were on her arms and forehead. She looked to Lydia as Lydia got to the door. "Welcome to Beacon Hills." She said, and stormed out. 

* * *

 

"So... birds just flew into the room." Derek asked, confused.

"That's what I heard, yeah." Malia shrugged, speaking around the highlighter in her mouth.

"But you weren't there."

"Nope." 

Derek frowned. "Who was?"

She spat out her highlighter, which hit the breakfast bar and bounced off somewhere into the loft. Neither of them watched it go. "Boyd I think. Lydia." She shrugged.

"Where is Boyd?" He looked to Isaac, who was trying to do his own homework on the couch. He smelled less stressed by it. 

"Umm..." Isaac looked up from his book. "What?"

"Boyd. Where is he." Derek looked around. "And Erica."

Isaac looked around, frowning. "I saw them leaving the school together."

"How'd you get home."

"Um." Isaac's scent changed, his body curling in. Yeasted bread and organic leaves mixed in with his natural scent. At Derek's growl, he answered. "Scott drove me."

Anger. Betrayal. Jealousy. He scented it all in his own emotions when his vision grew dark and altered by his alpha eyes. Immediately Isaac was whining, cowering, his scent nothing more than fear. Where Erica would have been defiant, and Malia angry, and Boyd calmly rational--Isaac was scared. Cowering. A lingering trait from his childhood with his father, one that he had seemed to get over, but sometimes fell back into when Derek was angry.

He tried to calm himself. "Peter!" He yelled.

"No need to yell." Peter said, coming down the stairs slowly. His eyes flashed. "I am here. All is well." 

Malia snorted, another highlighter in her mouth as she marked her page in orange.

"Find Boyd and Erica." Fear like when Gerard had taken them filled him with a bitter scent.

Peter slowed as he got to the bottom of the stairs. His scent was masked--the infuriating smile on his face.  He gave nothing away. "Me? Why me? You have two capable betas-"

"Who are doing homework." Derek said. He crossed his arms, tried to ignore the need to defend himself.

"And you don't do anything." Isaac said, the control over himself back in place without Derek's anger filling the air.

Peter sighed. "And we know their missing? They could just be necking in the woods."

"Ew." Isaac muttered, hiding back in his book.

"Go."

Peter looked like he was about to argue again.

"GO!" Derek roared.

If anyone could look indignant without smelling it, it was Peter.

* * *

"Apparently Erica and Boyd have been missing all day." Allison said, phone glowing against her face.

Lydia looked back to the road. "Isaac?" She didn't need to look at her best friend to know the girl was blushing, a shy smile creeping on her face. "Seems like you have a thing for werewolves."

"It's--it's not really like that. We're, we're just--friends."

"Sexually frustrated friends." Lydia said, grinning as she drove her mom's car up to the McCall house.

Allison sighed. "It's complicated."

"Always is." Lydia looked at herself in the mirror, checking her face again. No lipstick in her teeth. "I mean, how can it not be when you nearly murdered his pack mates?" She smiled at her friend to take away the sting of the blow. "Obviously he doesn't hold a grudge."

Allison was looked down at her lap, hair hiding her face. It was a new haircut, lighter, softer, more mature. She'd grown a lot in France, Lydia had noticed. She'd gotten a few details about the intense training, about meeting the other side of her family that had stayed connected with the Argent roots more than her grandfather had--and about the men she'd been seeing. Somehow she'd settled into that steel-like personality she'd tapped into after her mother had died. Lydia liked it. It suit the other girl perfectly. "I..."

"Hey." Lydia put her hand on her friend's. "You have to forgive yourself sometime."

"I know I know." Allison flicked away the tears at her eyelashes. "It's not that I haven't, it's just hard sometimes. Thinking of how I was so angry, what I almost turned into." Her smile was like her hair. Pained, soft, more mature. In her was death too, a myriad of horrible experience no one their age should ever really know--and in the summer she'd been away she had somehow embraced it and grow into her anger and strength. Like silk over steel. "How easy I was to manipulate." Her eyes were distant, sad, staring at the McCall house without seeing it.

Lydia squeezed her hand. "There was no way to protect against what Gerard did." She said, thinking of Peter. "We can only learn and not make the same mistake twice."

Allison's smile was a little more radiant. "Let's go in, yeah? Looks like were the last ones here."

Lydia flipped her hair as she opened the car door. "Fashionably late." She agreed. They walked arm in arm to the front door, walking in with ease. Kira, Liam, and Hayden were all sitting around, Hayden beating Scott in a round of CoD as Liam devoured the pizza box sitting on his lap. Their wonders of their pack, Lydia thought, strolling over. It was different than the feeling of the Hale Pack--and despite the fact that Lydia was dating Jackson, she considered the McCall's to be her real pack. The true pack of Beacon Hills.  

"Hey, Ali." Kira said, awkwardly waving.

Scott looked over his shoulder, getting that ridiculous love sick grin on his face. It irritated her to see it more than usual, for both Allison and Kira's sake. "Hey-" He started. "-son of a bitch." He turned back to the tv, watching to see his someone in the game t-bag him before the respawn.

"Come on McCall! We're going to loose." Hayden said, shoving her shoulder into Scott. 

"No way you can loose, babe." Liam said, shoving more pizza into his mouth. "Seriously--even if you weren't the best player ever I don't think your team can loose with how much you modded your character."

"Scott's terrible enough to make it close." She teased.

Pack, Lydia decided, was another true safe place. Here, with her friends. She sat down, ready to discuss the horror that was their lives between laughter, pizza, and games.

* * *

 

Stiles was surprised to find himself awake in his own bed. He knew it before he even opened his eyes, before he was even really awake. It was his bed. Not the one in his Louisiana apartment, with the cramped bed and sheets he couldn’t stop from smelling like burnt magic—but his bed at home. Where his dad lived, where his mom used to live.  

Before opening his eyes, he spread out his arms and legs to each side of him, feeling the coolness of the sheets on each side, the pure wideness of a full bed. The room smelled like California sea and air, and he could feel warm wind coming from outside. And for the first time in a long time, Stiles felt good. There was a sense of calmness in the air that he couldn’t name. A sense of  _rightness_.  

“Of course it feels right.” A voice said. Soft, feminine, a little hoarse. He turned his head, and the smell of sea and air was diminished a bit by the smell of perfume. The kind women wore. It wasn’t sugary sweet or flowery—but it had a kind of musky, spicy scent to it. Turning his head, he felt soft hair brush his nose, and he buried his face in it deeper into the strands, smelling that scent. “Why shouldn’t it feel right?” She asked.  

“Because I killed a man?” He asked, whispering it into the hair. Stiles didn’t want to open his eyes. He felt that if he did, things would move a lot faster than he wanted them to. And all he really wanted was to feel the sheets on his back, to smell the scent that had never once been in his room. He felt drowsy and calm. It was like weightlessness, but somehow completely different from that—almost like he was floating in an abyss, an abyss that was not outside of him, but in, and slowly turning him left without ever moving his body.  

“It wasn’t a man, Stiles.” The voice whispered. A hand—small, warm, smelling like lotion—brushed through his hair, pulling all the strands this way and that so that her small fingers could press against the skin of his skull. “That thing was never a man. All you did was bring the monster to the outside. Made it flesh.”  

He couldn't help but agree. It was strange that she was telling him this though, his own thoughts echoing back at him. Most people would be disgusted. Accusatory maybe. What he'd done—  

\--was monstrous, really. He could remember it well, in a way he hadn't been able to as he'd sat in the police station. The way his muscles had burned, the way they’d jumped whenever his fists had impacted the skull of that teenager. More than anything, he realized how utterly  _terrified_ he’d been as he killed that boy. So scared he could hardly think. Stiles had disappeared into a place where he was nothing but his screams, and his fists, and his fear. A few punches—a stab—maybe that could be considered justified. But what Stiles had done was more than just killing. He’d opened the teenager up, snapped the ribcage open and took out the heart from its protective sac. He’d snapped off a rib and shoved it up the man’s nose cavity, liquefying all the insides. It was more than murder, somehow. Beyond being justified by fear. What Stiles had done was more primal, more disgusting. It was strange, how he was only just realizing this. “Do you know what happens to someone, after they die?”  

A small laugh sounded next to him, too mature, really, to be called a giggle. “I do.”  

“I don’t.” He admitted. He turned, wrapped his arms around a small woman’s figure that had appeared by his side. She was warm, and softer then he would have expected, for something so small. His chest pressed against her back, and he pushed his nose deeper into her hair, at the base of her skull, till the tip of his nose touched the fragrant skin at the back of her neck. “But I know what happens to the body. Did you know that rigor mortis lasts for 72 hours? The skeletal muscles partially contract, forcing the joints and limbs to freeze. Once someone’s dead, their muscles cells become more permeable to calcium ions, which acts as a bridge between actin and myosin, two fibers that work together in muscle contraction. So when a person’s ATP is depleted—around that 72 hour period after death—the muscles can’t release the myosin fibers, so they all stay locked in place. At least until the muscles decompose, and then rigor mortis is done.”  

She hummed, her chest moving. He realized then that she wasn’t breathing. Her ribs were not moving up and down against his like they should. “Are you dead?” He asked.  

“No—but I’m very close to death.”  

It was his turn to hum. “I’m going to have to open my eyes, now.” He told her. “It feels like I’ve been here too long already.” She said nothing, did nothing. Slowly, feeling that calm, wondering, floating-but-not floating feeling, he opened his eyes.  

The feeling of serenity left him quick enough that he felt a kind of backlash from it, a draining sensation. His head pounded and his limbs felt weak. The body next to him was suddenly too hot, too fragrant. He pushed away from her, watching to see all of her beautiful red hair turn slowly to white, then fall out in large clumps only to expose a skull that was bone, with nothing more than bits of dehydrated flesh on it. The soft lumps under the blankets began to sink, becoming sharper where hip and shoulder bones rose up. The woman—the cadaver—still didn’t breathe.  

A scream started up, so loud that he became paralyzed, unable to cradle his ears. He’d always read books where people screamed and it was described as some kind of siren, or wail—like it was so loud and impossible that it couldn’t even have naturally come from a human throat. It had always made Stiles think of a kind of blow horn, one that was monotone and obviously fake. There was nothing to be scared of, from a sound like that. It was artificial. Just a noise. But this was something else, something loud, yes, and shrill, yes, but obviously made of flesh and bone and sinew. Something with a life, something that could project whatever it was feeling, in all of its complexities, its contradictions. It sounded to Stiles like mourning.   

His mother had died years and years ago. He hadn’t mourned her.  

As the last echoes of the scream died off in his head, first reminding him of a hinge that needed to be oiled, then the sound elephants make with their trunk, then a chair being scraped backed on linoleum tiles—then, finally, nails on a chalk board—he got this sense that he was being watched. He looked to the corpse by his side, but it was still and dead. He looked around his room, his old room, with its bookshelves and his desk, with the blue wallpaper that that was scratched and bubbled because neither him nor his dad were very good with home decorating. Outside all three windows, it was black. Black, like nothing existed outside the room.   

Slowly, the door to his room opened. It smelled like forest, outside of the door. The smell of sea and air and moisture, reminding him of some damp, Oregon coast he’d never been to before.   

Stiles climbed out of his bed and walked through his door. The hardwood blended into a forest floor, with sharp little sticks and leaves jabbing the underside of his feet, and mud squishing between his toes. It was dark, but not overly so.   

He could see only one thing. Every time he tried to look away, there was only blackness. Not like night, or darkness, really, but like nothingness. Like the rest of the world around him just hadn’t been created yet. Only his bedroom, and that girl, and this tree, which was standing in front of him, bigger than any tree he’d ever seen in his life. Stiles was pretty sure it was an oak tree. Its roots dug deep into the ground, and skimmed along the surface about twenty feet behind him, moving into the blackness. The roots created a kind of smooth circumference around the trunk of the tree where only it’s dead leaves fell on bare dirt. The trunk itself was tall and wide enough to be a building, and he had to crane his neck up to see where it started to branch out. Some branches were upwards, some dipped down so low they nearly touched the ground, where the roots were starting to pop up. It was probably the biggest, most unreal tree he’d ever seen. And even though it was dark, Stiles could have sworn he could see sunlight moving through the tree leaves.  

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”  

He turned, to see the man he’d killed standing there on a tree root, half in darkness. His face was mashed in, so bloody and disfigured it couldn’t even resemble a face anymore. The teenager's OBEY shirt was torn open, showing the man’s gaping chest wound where there was no heart, only bits and pieces of bone peeking out here and there. The top of his intestines were starting to leak out.   

As Stiles watched, what might have been the boy’s jaw, once—which was dislocated near where a normal cheekbone would be—moved up and down. A hissing, clicking, shaking noise left the dead man’s ruined throat, and wind started to raise up and shake the tree, the leaves and branches matching the sound of the man’s dull chant.  _Du-rach. Du-rach. Du-rach. Du-rach. Du-rach_.

* * *

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hate the Dread Doctor's arch. So that won't exist in my fanfiction. 
> 
> Also I tried to write the different POV's differently. don't know if that came across well or if I'll keep up with it. Lydia's POV was freakin' hard. I don't think I put enough emphasis in how I wanted her character to be, that mix of vanity and intelligence and selfishness. But hey--try and try again
> 
> Up next!:  
> What the fuck was up with that Stile's dream? What happened to Erica and Boyd? Who are all the new mysterious strangers coming to Beacon Hills?


	3. There's a Foul Stench In the Wind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The pack starts to feel the danger, and enemies start coming at them from all directions.

**CHAPTER THREE. THERE'S A FOUL STENCH ON THE WIND**

* * *

* * *

* * *

* * *

 

 

"Hello Scott."

Peter's back was still turned. He thought about launching himself at the old wolf, his reflexes were still off from the resurrection. But maybe that wasn't true. If he could sense Scott in the bushes, he might be stronger then he pretended. He stood slowly, making his way over to Peter, who was smirking up at the nearly full moon. Three days away and Scott could feel it's pull on him--that strange sensation of anger and recklessness and freedom. He grabbed the spinner from his pocket for something to mess around with, flicking it as he stood next to his maker. "Patrol or...?"

"If I was on patrol, dear Alpha," Peter said, eyes never leaving the moon. "Then I would have attacked you for being in my territory."

Scott snorted, he flicked his spinner harder. "I...wanted to help." He had to stop from defending himself. This close to the Preserve, he was in Hale territory. But he liked to come up to the rock ledge that overlooked Beacon Hills when it was this close to the moon, and it meant crossing Hale lands. It seemed unfair to him that the older pack got all of the best parts of Beacon Hills to themselves, while Scott's land had only neighborhoods and the main road. He'd fought for it though, when his powers came into full force and Derek finally realized that Scott would never join him. Not ever. The idea of bowing the neck to Derek was wrong, like chaining himself up on the full moon wrong, it set his instincts aching like a raw nerve. So he fought for his land, making sure the hospital that his mom spent most of her time in was at the center of it. His first Pack member to be protected at all costs, even if it meant chaining himself to the least interesting part of Beacon Hills.  

Peter rolled his neck, cracking it from right to left. "Yes. Oh so helpful Scott, come to the rescue," He said. In a flash, his hand reached out and grabbed Scott's, stopping the spinner. The older wolf made sure their skin didn't touch for more than a second--a direct challenge to the Alpha of another pack. "What in the ADHD ridden world is  _that_?" He asked.

Scott watched him, feeling himself still. His wolf was at the surface. Deaton had described it as his id--the part of him that was all feelings and impulses and desires. It had changed when he was bitten. Things like touching and making sure his people were his, and that everybody knew it, was stronger. His sex drive was higher, and his temper. Right now he had the strangest desire to flash his eyes at Peter, make him bend at the neck again, only this time a true sign of submission instead of the twitching echo of one. His claws wanted to come out, and he wanted to mark up Peter's face. All odd things, things he restrained by gritting his teeth and staring Peter in the eye. "Don't do that again." He warned.

A chin jerk down, not what Scott's wolf wanted, but something he would take. He flicked the spinner again, just to prove he could. Peter was smirking. "There was one point in time, if I remember correctly, that you would have begged me to touch you."

The snarl that ripped through his throat weirdly made him feel ashamed, but he didn't stop it. "That was a long time ago." He said. "I'm in a healthier relationship now."

Peter threw back his head and laughed. "Touche, young Alpha. Touche." He said, his smile guarded and tight. "How the times have changed. Everything I've done..." He raised his hands, as if to indicate the world around him. "All the plans I made, all the anger to fuel me-and my first beta and my dear nephew are the Alphas instead of me."

Another flick of the spinner. "Even Derek makes a better Alpha than you."

"I was more powerful." Peter pointed out. He was staring at Scott from the corner of his eyes, not turning to face him. Something about that pleased Scott.

"And Kate was more powerful than Talia." Scott pointed out. He grew still as something shifted in Peter, though the wolf did nothing.

"You're so full of quips today." The man whispered, body still. Scott didn't even think he was breathing.

Scott put the spinner back in his pocket. "It's been three days since Boyd and Erica went missing." He pointed out. "You get their scent yet?"

"This is where it disappeared." Peter motioned to the random parking lot in front of them. It was between a hotel and one of the old fashioned dinner's that had survived the upscale market that he swept through Beacon Hills when Scott was in junior high. Surrounding them were high end echo friendly Star Bucks and lounge bars. Erica and Boyd liked to go to the retro game shop around the corner that sold ataris and game boys and used video games. They grabbed games there a lot for Scott's pack too. "A trail directly from school-no smell of a struggle or fear or anything. It just disappears."

"A car then. They went willingly?" He bent down, sniffing. Just old motor oil and gas exhaust. "Anything weird?"

"Herbs, mostly. Thyme, ginger, Calamus root, catnip, bayberry, acorn and alder." At Scott's look, Peter smiled. "Other smells, but I only recognized some. I caught the scent of it downwind, but I'm pretty sure it came from here."

"And you didn't think to mention it first?" Scott asked, standing.

"I'm not a fan of witches." Like that explained everything.

Scott sighed. "They've been gone for days, Peter." He said, his anger burning forward. "They could be in danger!"

"And how is that my problem?" He asked.

Scott restrained himself. Sometimes he wondered if Peter was intentionally evil, or he was just so selfish that it came naturally. "They must have gone willingly and that's why we can't hear them howl back," He said, "Call Derek, tell him to meet me at Deaton's". The vet would still be at the clinic this time of night, he practically slept in the utility closet in the back.

Peter didn't move, but was watching him. "A true Alpha." He said.

"What?"

Peter rolled his neck again, but his neck didn't crack this time. "How is it you became one, Scott? What mystical powers did you unlock? What spell did you try?"

"It isn't a trick, Peter."

"Of course it is." Peter said nonchalantly. He walked off, towards Derek's apartment and pack house. "The world is filled with them." 

Scott watched him go without saying a word, doubt filling him. It wasn't that he'd actually done anything to turn himself into an Alpha, but it didn't mean he actually knew how any of it happened. Deaton had tried explaining it to him, but once he started going off on some guy named Cernunnos Scott have given up. He didn't understand how a stag god people worshiped for fertilizing fields had anything to do with him.

Things had gotten a lot better after Peter had died. Without that unrelenting urge whispering in the back of his head to be a monster as well as a fanged supernatural creature he'd gotten the time to realize his change was irreversible, and that he might even be okay with it some day. Somewhere between Derek claiming the Alpha title, and Lydia acting strange, and a scaled beast knocking him paralyzed every now and then, and Allison... life got in the way of worrying abut what he was. He just tried to do the best he could to protect his mom and the people he loved. Weird things were happening to him--sudden bouts of amazing control, mixed with the reckless lack of control he'd had when he first shifted. Allison, his anchor at the time, was starting to not work. After Victoria had died, Allison had changed too much, and every time he reached for her, all he got was anger and pain and loathing and fear. He'd lost his connection to her as he tried desperately to save her. He started getting protective of Isaac, Boyd, and Erica. His anger for Peter started to wane. The idea of being Derek's beta was more a pain than an irritation...

Things fell apart. He put them back together. He didn't even realize the difference until Isaac had told him his eyes were red, not yellow. He hadn't really believed it, hadn't even had the balls to think about it too much--until Liam. His instincts had just kicked in. He knew he couldn't save the boy from falling off the side of hospital roof, Liam had been physically fighting him, trying to fall to his death. Scott had just put his head forward and bit.  _He will live_. Scott had thought, refusing to see anyone else in this town die, even a depressed, furious teenager he didn't know.  _He will live_. After the bite, Liam had slipped the grip Scott had on his arm, fallen to the ground. He'd been rushed inside, and with the bite, was healed within days. Scott had had to face it then--but he still didn't know how it had happened.

* * *

"Oh hell no." Mason hit the speed dial on his phone--but there was no answer. He tried again, and again. As soon as it went to voicemail he hung up and kept calling, knowing that Stiles would eventually have to answer just to get it to stop ringing. He headed to the kitchen, seeing that someone had been kind enough to fill up the fridge and pantries with food. The druid emissary, probably, since everything was free range organic, with only white meats, and vegetables. Not a processed carb in sight. He'd ordered pizza after his fly in, realizing he was in no mood to cook. Then he'd tried unpacking, and realized there was only one bedroom in the apartment.

He rang a few more times before a voice barked out on the line, "Jesus- _stop_. I'm busy Mason."

"Put me on speaker." He challenged, grabbing a slice and plopping on the bean bag chair that had come a day or two before him. There was no tv, or internet--but he had his laptop and had downloaded a lot of movies before hand. He figured he'd be set, at least until Stiles came and ordered all the necessities of living.

"Mason." A voice said, breathing a little heavy. 

"Oh, hey Dean." Mason spluttered, realizing Stiles was  _that_ kind of busy. He tried to rein in his crush for Stile's off and on again boyfriend, Dean, but it was hard. The man was all broad shoulders and chiseled jaw and beautiful green eyes. "What, uh, what's up?"

"Five minutes Mason." Dean said.

"It'll take more than five fucking minutes for me to get off--" Stile barked, before the phone hung up. Mason busied himself with his laptop, trying not to think about the very epic sex he knew the two were having right now. He'd heard it plenty of times through the thin walls of Stile's Louisiana apartment when he and Dean had both been over. It had fueled many a fantasies. 

He thought of the single bedroom and collapsed, falling out of the beanbag and onto the floor as Step Brother's started playing. He stayed that way until his phone rang. 

"That was quick." Mason said, putting the phone on speaker.

"What can I say, Dean's talented." Stile said smoothly. Mason could hear him lighting up a joint, the sounds of music in the background. 

"That--that, uh-" Mason's face felt hot. "Why do you get all the sexy guys?" He mumbled into the carpet. 

"You're just young." Stiles said easily, "Wait till your out of highschool and you'll have all the Deans in the world trying to get to your zipper." 

"Your compliments make me feel uncomfortable." Mason complained, sitting up. "But Stiles--Stiles--"

"Yeah buddy." 

"There's only one bedroom." He said.

Silence. He could hear Stiles exhaling. "Well fuck."

"So you didn't know?" Mason said, disbelieving.

"Shit, you caught me. My plan was to get a one bedroom and a full bed--not pay the heat bill--so we'd have to cuddle together in the middle of the night on a tight bed, needing each other for warmth, slowly discovering each other's bodies." A beat of silence as Mason's brain tried to keep up with what was going on. His mind kept filtering back to that one night they'd slept together. Even drunk Stiles was-- "Get your mind outta the gutter, Mason. Deaton got the apartment. I don't know what he was thinking, the druid fuck."

"Oh." Mason felt himself flush.

"We'll figure it out when I get there. Bunk beds or I can sleep on the couch or some shit. Hows everything else look?"

"Uh," He turned, looking at the blank walls. "It's bigger than your place."

Stiles coughed a little on his joint. "No hard feat, that." He said, coughing more. "Ugh, shit, I hate the butts--where is it exactly? I heard it was supposed to be in neutral territory but I don't know where that is."

"It's the East part of the town, mostly. A walk from the school, so that'll be nice. 'Bout twenty minutes from the Preserve, three minutes from the Sherrif's department, and nine from the hospital. Seven minutes each way for either pack territory."

"Hmmm..." Silence. It was awkward. His mentor could talk someone's ear off--but sometimes he got into these bouts of pensive silence, sitting there and starring off into space with a dark expression. Mason had never liked that side of Stiles, but then, Mason figured no one liked the murderous side of himself. 

"So I figured I'll join school on Monday, introduce myself to the packs, see the lay of the land." Mason offered. "I don't know about the Nemeton you keep dreaming about--"

"It's in the woods." Stiles said. "Go outside."

"Um." He scratched the back of his head, but closed his laptop. "I don't really have the shoes to go walking in the woods-"

"Don't worry about it. You wouldn't find the tree unless it wanted you too. Though you could probably get close--you feel the ley lines in town?"

"Should I?" He asked, nervous.

"Go outside Mason."

He rolled his eyes as the bossiness. "How do you know I'm not?"

"Fine. Go find a dog."

"Are you serious?" Mason groaned. "It's so late. I'm jet lagged. Just let me go to sleep and I can do this-"

"Your about to meet a bunch of werewolves, Mace. You need to start working on your control exercises every night, not just when you feel like it."

"I've got control." He muttered. But he put his shoes back on and went outside, heading out into the night. He'd passed by a dog on the way here, one chained up in a fence-linked yard in a neighborhood. He started walking towards it, hoping the dog was still out. "I've been doing really well!"

"'Course you have, buddy. But what you got is restraint, not control. You can force yourself to be human, but you can't unleash your inner beast in small increments so it doesn't swallow you whole." 

"Swallow me whole hu?" He asked, smiling.

"Every time." He said. "Hmmm... speaking of which, Dean is back with food. You good buddy or you want me to put you on speaker?"

Mason hating being the third wheel. "Naw man, enjoy your last couple of nights with your boyfriend--"

"I'm not his boyfriend!" Dean yelled somewhere in the background.

"Say that to my dick!" Stiles yelled back.

"Fuck--are you smoking? Seriously? I didn't get that much food-"

And off they went. Mason hung up, knowing they probably wouldn't miss him. He thought about heading back to the apartment instead of going for the dog, but Stiles would probably figure it out and make him go through one of their 'intensive' trainings to make up for it, and Mason really hated meditating for three hours straight.

It was a good night to walk, the air in Beacon Hills was cleaner than Louisiana and it was warm here, this close to southern California. He found the dog still chained up in the yard, barking loudly as soon as he got within two houses of it. He watched it through the chain-link fence, snarling and yelping and pulling on it's chain. It looked like it had been out here for a while, furious and lonely. 

He crouched down, getting the dog to go into another bout of furious barking. "Sorry you have such shitty owners." He said, voice low. The dogs barked in reply.

The goal was to concentrate on that part of him that was connected to The Beast, but not become Sebastion Valet. Like Jackel becoming Hyde, but without the furious and blood thirst nature of Hyde. It was all buried down there, malicious intent and bloodthirsty desire. If he thought of harming someone, Valet would come out through him, trickling slowly when his angry thoughts turned to murder and vengeance--and once it got to that point, there was no turning back. He'd find himself naked and bloody with Stiles standing over him every time, blocks of his memory blacked out, a trail of dead bodies he always somehow knew the names of. 

The meditation was supposed to help. He was supposed to clam himself, then be guided into a forest where he, The Beast, and Sebastion Valet were all running in. Stiles had explained it like mind over existence. Technically The Beast and Valet were one in the same, but if he thought of them as separate entities, he could get to The Beast and use him without Valet interfering. Sometimes it worked, but Valet was always closer to The Beast than he was, and sometimes when he thought he'd outsmarted the old french man, catching The Beast as it was hunting--he'd grab him and Valet would be there instead, taking over. Then the blackout, and Stiles pulling him back through. They'd tried caging Valet in the forest, locking him up as Mason tried to go for The Beast, but somehow it always ended up with Mason caged himself--and it was always at least a month before Mason came back to his body. 

This was something different, but along the same lines. Instead of trying to integrate himself with The Beast and fighting Valet, he was supposed to pretend he was a werewolf, using the abilities as if they were naturally his own. It had only worked once, when Stiles had been pushing and pushing after an intense meditation--and Mason had gotten angry, throwing the older man across the room and into a wall before he knew why. 

 

 

He stared at the furiously barking dog, trying to stare the damn pitbull into submission. He focused only on his breathing, that draw of warm air in and out, the feeling of it in his throat, the way his chest rose and fell as he balanced on his heels. He cleared his mind of everything but his breathing and the sound of the dog's barking. "Stop." He said. Nothing. The dog got angrier. More breathing. The sway of his balance, the tiredness of his thighs. His breathing in and out. "Stop barking." He said again. Nothing. He concentrated more. Till there was nothing but him and fido. The dog was breathing erratically, drawing in huge breaths between rounds of barking. It's neck and shoulders hurt from where it was pulling against the chain. It's feet were cold from the mud caked there. It's stomach empty.

 _Stomach was so empty it was painful. He'd never been so hungry before in his life. But he'd been this scared before. He was used to the feeling of it now. The terror. Sometimes that's all his life was now. Pure fear. But he knew he couldn't let it drag him away, so he focused on her instead. Grabbing her limp hand, taking away the pain that was becoming less and less as she slowly fadded_ \--

Mason blinked. The dog was still barking furiously. What--

His phone rang. He stood, noticing how his feet ached, and he couldn't even speak before Stile's was tensely speaking into his ear. "What was that? Mason? What's going on? Are you hurt?"

"What? No. I'm fine." He said, frowning at the dog. Someone in the house was getting angry, the porch light turning on as a woman screamed out, 'Kyle! Shut the fuck up!'--the dog, Kyle, kept barking. "I don't know what that was. I--I found a dog and I was trying to get it to do that whole submission thing and--"

"Kyle! Kyle!" The back door opened and a shoe flew out. It missed the dog.

"You connected to someone. It wasn't Valet." Stiles said. It sounded like he was moving.

"What?" Mason blinked. "Who? How?"

"You aren't a real werewolf. You're bound to one spiritually. So maybe you can connect to others through the same form of spiritual connection."

"Intense." Mason said. 

"Kyle!" A woman stepped out, cigarette in hand. "Who the fuck is out there? Get away from my dog!"

"I'm pretty bad ass." Mason said, chest puffing out.

"Apparently. Okay. Get away from that damn barking. I need your connecting to the pack. We have to figure out what's going on." Mason started moving, ignoring the woman calling after him. "Can you do that again?"

"Stiles, I don't even know what I did."

"Okay. Okay." He sighed. "I'm coming to you. Mindful walking now."

"What? Stiles I can figure it--"

"We have no time. Whoever that girl was, she was dying." Stiles said quickly. "Fucking boxes--" A loud crash on Stile's end. "Mindfully walk Mason! I can't do it if your not in the right mindset."

"Stop talking then." Mason muttered. He concentrated on his feet, the drag of his muscles as he walked. The air was warm on his skin, his calves ached as he moved up a hill. Breathing steady, in and out. His hand--

A feeling like pure pleasure washed through him, a kind of emotional satisfaction that was cunning and dominant in nature. He shivered, suddenly aware that while he was there, in his body, he was no longer in control of it. Stiles hung up his phone for him, shoving it in the back pocket--Mason hated it when Stile's put things in his back pocket--and started jogging. Stiles somehow knew where the apartment was, jumping up the front steps and getting inside quickly. He found the box with the candles, cursing in Mason's voice as he realized he had no matches or lighters. "I really hate that you don't smoke, you know that?" Stile's said. Mason's voice sounded different when Stile's was using it. Mason had never figured out what the difference was, but it was there all the same.

Stile's found a knife and started carving symbols into a pink candle. When Stiles sat cross legged on the floor--clumsy, even in Mason's body--it lit itself on fire. "Calm your mind, Mace." Stiles said, and Mason was shrouded in darkness as Stile's closed his eyes. "This needs to be quick, come on." Mason focused on what Stile's was doing to him. The mindful breathing, the draw of air in and out. Despite Mason's voice floating there, getting distracted by what was happening, how much he hated doing this, how worried he was about the dying girl, how his phone was digging in his ass--it took Stile's one minute to get to the right state of mind where it would have taken Mason thirty.

The house was apartment was old, the paint fresh. The previous owners had a dog that had pissed in the carpet a lot, Stiles--and Mason--could smell the linger stench the carpet cleaners hadn't been able to get out.  Stiles stood, eyes still closed, and found his way outside by senses. Once in the air, he smelled something foul. Deathly and burnt and decaying. Mason tried not to gag on it, focusing on the other things he could sense besides that awful smell, so he wouldn't pull Stiles out of the trance. But it was strong, ugly, like he was standing right next to it--

 _"_ Darach." Stiles cursed. An odd image pulled at Mason's mind. A dead body, standing in the roots of a massive tree, torn apart and murdered. It pulled Mason through, past the scent. It was a good killing, Mason though darkly. Full of passion and need. The man's rib cage had been torn apart expertly--"Focus Mason." Stiles said. "That scent is all over town. The Darach has been here a while." More focusing, deeper, into a part of Mason that he himself hadn't been able to tap into himself. Stiles, despite never having been a werewolf, knew what Mason could do, tapping into the instincts of the body itself. There were werewolves in the town. Alphas--An anguishing alpha, a pure alpha, two identical alphas, a cunning bitter alpha, a mourning alpha, a cruel alpha. Betas--stemming from the pure hearted alpha. One that was angry. One that was fierce. Two of the other alpha's betas were in pain. Hunger and sorrow and fear and spellwork laced them so the pack bond itself was faint and hard to reach. "There. That's them. You know where that is in town?"

Mason could sure as hell find out.

"Whatever you do," Stiles said, breaking out of the trance slowly, groggy. "Stay away from the Darach's scent."

Mason had no idea how he would do that. Without the mindset, the scent was already fading. "We'll practice." Stile said, voice soft and tired. He walked back into the apartment and blew out the candle. It hadn't even produced enough wax to really melt yet. "You aren't magic so you won't be able to feel it, but--here." He dug through more boxes, finding the right box based off of Stile's chicken scratch handwriting. There was a metal box inside, with little metal coins on leather strings. He put the gold one around his--Mason's--neck. "If it burns, run." He warned. "I'll call Deaton, see what's going on, you text me the address when you figure out where they are. And Mace?" He paused. "Save them, yeah?"

Mason would try his best.

The pleasure burst through him again, manipulative, filled with desire. In an instant Stiles was gone, and Mason was left with a body that didn't feel right anymore. He shivered, rubbing his arms, looking out the open door towards where the two hurting betas had been. Beacon Hills, he thought, sighing, was going to suck.

* * *

"I don't know what you think I can do to help." Deaton said.

"It was magic that took them. Magic." Derek barked, pointing a finger in Deaton's face.

"That might be true." Deaton said, nodding. 

"There is only one mage in town." Malia was just as angry.

"What did you do to them?" Jackson stepped forward, but was pushed back by Isaac, who was shaking his head.

"Deaton wouldn't do this."

"He's the only one with magic!" Jackson threw his hands up.

"That might not be true anymore." Scott said, worrying his lip.

"Go home." Derek ordered.

Scott pulled his chin up. "No." He said, staring Derek in the eyes. He watched as the older man growled, failing with his temper again. Scott could understand it though, he'd be furious himself if he had control issues, it was this close to the moon, his betas were hurting, and another Alpha was trying to encroach on their protection.

"If it's as you say, and they were taken by magic," Deaton said, always the voice of calm. "Then it was by someone other than myself. I can look up the herbs that Peter smelled and possibly figure out what spell it was, but it's not the will of magic to find--" Deaton's phone rang. A frown appeared on his face at the ringtone of Teenage Dirtbag. "I must answer this."

Scott grabbed Derek's hand to prevent him from grabbing the phone and throwing it. "Derek--"

"Dont. Touch. Me." Derek snarled, shoving at Scott's chest.

"Gentlemen," Deaton said, sighing. He answered the phone. "This really isn't a good time--"

"Because two betas are missing, yeah, I know." A familiar voice said. Scott paused, looking over to the phone, like the rest of them were. "There in an old abandoned bank at the edge of the McCall territory, I already sent you the address but you wouldn't answer your damn phone."

Deaton was frowning--actually frowning. Scott had never seen him do that before. "How?"

"My apprentice is in town. He'll be helping to break the spell the two are under, though he's fucking useless when it comes to magic, he can break spells pretty damn well." Stiles said. "Go. The girl--she'd dying."

Derek roared.

* * *

Boyd sucked out more of her pain, feeling it fade and fade. The hand in her's was trembling. "Erica--"

"Shhh," She said with numb lips. She tried to smile up at him. "S'okay." She said. "Everything is going to be okay."

"No," Boyd said, voice breaking. Tears ran silently down his face. "No it's not."

* * *

"Okay." Mason said, jumping up and down on the balls of his feet. "Okay. Mountain ass barrier. Meet your end." He tried to push his foot into it. Nothing. While he wasn't bound by the barrier, he couldn't touch him. Magic in him existed in a weird realm of real and not real, right beside the lycanthropy. Every time he tried to touch it, it acted like he wasn't there. "Okay." He said. "Just gotta... break the barrier." He tried to blow on it. Nothing. "Just--go. Be gone--"

A roar in the distance, one of the Alpha's that were in the bank itself warning the other's that a pack was coming. Mason had to get out of here. He had to breaking the mountain ash. "Okay. I got this."

* * *

Derek flew by him, slamming into the body of one of the biggest werewolves Scott had ever seen. Furious clawing and snarling and biting--but Scott had to focus on another Alpha. A boy he recognized from highschool, with sandy blond hair and a leather jacket. He roared at Scott before they crashed together. Scott tried to grab at the other Alpha's arms, blocking the claws from getting to his stomach, but the twin was strong, stronger than Scott was. He felt the ache of torn skin and was punched backwards into Isaac, who was trying to move around to get the Alpha from the side. "He's strong." Scott grunted, as Derek was pounded into the ground by the huge bald Alpha.

"It's what you get when you kill all your betas." Peter said, seeming satisfied. He was standing back, not even attempting to fight.

"Mountain ash!" Malia yelled, from about twenty feet off.

"Isaac--"

"Yeah." Isaac ran, going to grab Allison just as an arrow soared through the air. The bald Alpha grabbed it mid-air, snapping it with a roar. Scott stood up, rolled his shoulders, and flung himself forward again.

* * *

He could hear fighting. And Derek. Boyd squeezed her hand, trying not to think about how it wasn't squeezing back anymore. "There almost here, Erica, there almost here. Just hold on." He pushed the hair back from her bloodied face. "Just a bit more." 

* * *

Allison broke the barrier with her foot, arrow trained at the big Alpha fighting Derek and Jackson. It looked like he was winning. "There might be more traps." Isaac said, grabbing her shoulder. She walked backwards, before follow him and Malia through the doors. The lobby was huge and hollow, old marble crumbled away, walls covered in plastic sheets. "I can smell them!" Isaac yelled, running towards the vault.

A woman stepped out from a sheet just as Isaac drew near. Her kick lashed out, getting him in the face and making him fall and skid against the ground. She said nothing, just roared at Malia, who was charging. Allison raised up her arrow again, arm straining to keep the weight as she aimed for an opening. Malia was vicious, but so was the woman Alpha. They both pulled no punches, going for throats and stomachs and tendons--but it was obvious the female Alpha was stronger. A powerful kick, and Mailia was flying through the air, Isaac taking her place.

There was no time. Allison whispered an old family motto, hoping Isaac wouldn't be too pissed if she missed and hit him, and let her arrow fly. 

* * *

Had he done that? Mason looked at the mountain ash barrier. It was normal now, no magic. He could move it with his foot. He could hear fighting--and more fighting inside. He looked up, grinning, trying not to let the excitement get the best of him as he rushed into the back entrance of the bank. He'd have to tell Stiles, get the guy to escalate his training. Mason was now the breaker of barriers.

He slipped around the side, using one of the techniques to keep himself quiet as a people fought in front of the vault. One against three--and the lone woman was winning. He winced as claws ranked across a tall boy's face and tried focusing on the magic that was surrounding the vault. He had no idea what kind of magic it was or what it did, but he could feel it buzzing around the outside of the marble like an invisible electric fence, angry and spitting. It would be easier to break than the mountain ash since he wasn't directly affected by it. He closed his eyes, rubbing his hands together to get a bit of warmth into them first, then pushed them against the magic. His palms started to burn, an aching his pushed through. It was like pushing against a wall that wanted to push back, and he had to use his legs to push as the burning ache spread to his arm muscles. "C'mon c'mon." He muttered, pushing--it broke with a soundless snap he could only feel in his muscles. He tumbled forward, face first into the marble of the wall, just as an arrow went wide and passed through the air where he'd just stood. "Totally getting better training after this." He said, backing away.

* * *

They were loosing. Derek was a bloody mess on the floor and wasn't getting up. Jackson was hobbled. Scott tried to avoid the twin's claws and he dove for the big guy's bald head, trying to get to his eyes. He was thrown off as if he weighed nothing, slamming into the ground with a rattle. He couldn't breathe--why was there no air?

* * *

Allison's eyes narrowed, watching the Alpha woman's turned back. She had two arrows in her--right shoulder, left thigh--and neither one of them seemed to be bothering her. As if Allison didn't matter, she stood focusing on finishing off Isaac, hand coming down to sweep against the boy's throat.

* * *

A figure flew by. Scott watched as nails ranked across the bald Alpha's throat, and big guy stumbled, trying to keep the shallow cut from bleeding too much. The twin Alpha roared, going after the new figure--but the stranger only ducked, slamming his shoulder into the Alpha at just the right moment to spin him in the air and slam him into the ground. Then the flash of electricity, and the twin Alpha was knocked out. The bald Alpha roared, rushing forward. The stranger back up, looking ready for another attack, but the bald Alpha only grabbed his fallen comrade and fled.

Scott blinked past the pain in his stomach, watching the stranger with watery eyes. Tasers--Scott should buy some tasers from Mr. Argent. 

He wondered if this was one of Mr. Argent's hunters, a friendly figure come to help out in case Allison needed backup. But when the stranger turned around, beta gold eyes flashed in a shifted face. "Hey, Scott."

* * *

An unfamiliar roar sounded, and Allison watched as the female Alpha turned and bolted without a glance at them. Not that they were much of a threat to her, but still. Allison kept her bow up, just in case she would come back, but the back door opened with a loud clang, and she seemed to truly be gone. Maybe the other's outsider were getting to deal with her. Isaac, still alive on the floor, seemed to not care. Instead of following the Alpha woman,  he was trying to crawl to the vault. "Erica--" He croaked.

Allison couldn't hear anything. No more fighting, no need for help. She decided to help her friend, stepping over Isaac to spin the lock and opening the huge vault door. She barley managed to avoid Boyd, who came ramming into the door to throw it open, snarling at them. It took him seconds to realize it was them, the relief crashing against his face before he turned to put the limp figure of Erica into his arm. He was back out in seconds. "She's still alive--but we have to hurry." He said, glaring at them to object. He had no wounds himself, but Erica was a bent and broken figure in his arms, worse off than Malia or Isaac.

"My car. We'll get to Deatons--" But he was already moving away, out of the bank. He stepped over Isaac too, not stopping as he thanked the Isaac and Malia for saving them.

"Yeah." Malia said, holding her stomach in, face twisted in pain. "Sure. No problem. Wasn't hard at all." She said, falling down on the floor next to Isaac, who was crying softly. "I can do it all day." She said, before hysterically laughing.

"I--" Allison looked back towards where Boyd had disappeared.

"Go." Isaac said. "Hurry."

Allison turned and ran.

* * *

"Theo?" Scott asked, recognizing the boy he used to know a little. He looked more like his younger self when he was out of beta form. Scott had to assume he smelled the same, too. He stood there, casual, like he hadn't just stopped two Alphas that had slashed an entire pack to ribbons. 

"Yeah. Hey." He said, smiling. "Good to see you dude."

Boyd ran past, a bloody Erica in his arms. His disappeared into the night, and Scott could only watch him go. A few seconds later, Allison followed, looking over at Scott with a worried look. She mouthed 'Deaton' before following.

"Uhh." Scott said, staring after her.

"C'mon, I'll help you guys up." He said, grabbing at Jackson, putting the boy's arm over his shoulders. "I walked over here, so..."

"Derek." Scott said, still stunned. He felt like he had whiplash. "Camaro." He said.

"Touch it and die." Derek wheezed, apparently alive.

Scott sighed, trying to stand himself. Everything hurt. "Fine, I'll leave you here you big grump."

* * *

Derek did not let him touch his car. He pushed Scott away after Mailia, Jackson, and Isaac were inside, gunning the engine and peeling away from the curb without a look back. Scott was left stranded, trying to figure out what he'd do as Theo, next to him, whistled. "Bit of an asshole." He said lightly.

"Yeah. You have no idea." Scott said, sighing. He pushed his hand into the wound on his side, starting for home. Theo walked with him.

"Still live in the same house with your mom?" He asked, voice light.

"Yeah dude. Same as always." Scott said, wincing at a missed step.

"Nothings really changed then, hu?" Theo said, smiling up at the almost full moon.

"Um. A lot has, actually." Scott said, looking at the boy weird. "For one, I'm a werewolf. So are you, apparently."

He nodded, smiling. "About a year ago, I was skating in my neighbors pool. I didn't even notice when it got dark," He said, looking back up to the moon. "Crashed on my board. Took me a minute before I realized that I hadn't even heard the board falling down with me. When I looked up, there were these red eyes in the darkness, holding my board." He shivered. "Tried to run but I didn't even get out of the pool." He looked over at Scott. "Bit me right here, on my ribs." He said, lifting up his shirt. There was no mark there on his ribs, but there was a faint red scar on his chest, barely seen between his pecks. "I freaked out, you know? It healed within the night and I didn't know what to do. Tried to hide all the weird changes from my parents." He shrugged, shirt falling down. 

Scott nodded, concerned. He'd been changed like that. Random, scared, having to hide. He reached out, putting his arm on Theo's shoulder. "I'm so sorry that happened. It's... tough." He said lamely.

Theo smiled sadly, nodding. "Everything happens for a reason though, right?"

Scott smiled. "Yeah dude." They walked in silence for a bit. "What happened to your Alpha?" He could smell the scent of omega on him, like loneliness.

"About a week after I got bit this other werewolf beta comes up to me. Says our Alpha is dead, and I should run away. Apparently two twin betas in the pack attacked, killing everyone in the pack they could get to and then their Alpha." Theo frowned. "Even their Emissary."

"Harsh." Scott said. "I think that guy you tased--"

"Was the Alpha who killed my Alpha, yeah. At least one of them." Theo smiled. "Surprise!" He said, jazzing his hands.

"Your hunting them?" Scott asked. He stopped walking, grabbing Theo's arm to stop him too. "That is so dangerous dude! Their Alphas! They could seriously mess you up."

"Haven't gotten me yet." Theo said, shrugging cockily. "C'mon, we need to get you home before your seen." He grabbed Scott's bicep, leading them forward again. "But seriously, this is like, my fourth encounter with them. You just need to use some tricks."

"Like the taser." Scott said, thoughtful. He'd been tazed before. It hadn't been pleasant.

"Yeah. Altered to be hella strong." Theo said, nodding. "But, dude, I could use some help, you know? I don't know why you guys were fighting them but I can teach you some tricks, and..." Theo rubbed the back of his head. "I could really use a pack, you know? It's been lonely out here alone."

Scott nodded. "Sure, dude. You can meet the pack. We could definitely use the help." He hadn't seen the guy in at least seven years, but they meshed well together, old comradeship falling into place. He was sure the others would like him.

"Didn't I just meet them?"

Scott shook his head. Laughing hurt. "No, that was the Hale pack. I've got my own." At Theo's confused look, Scott smiled and said, "There are two packs here."

"That..." Theo blinked. "Sounds like quite the story."

"It is. Trust me." Scott led them into his neighborhood. "Hopefully it'll get resolved soon. An Emissary is coming up to help us."

"Yeah? Peace loving druid or something?" He said, amused. At Scott's confusing, he smiled. "That's what my pack member said we had as our Emissary."

"Well, we have one of those. Deaton." Scott said, feeling like he wanted to crawl the last block to his house. His mom would get pissed if he got blood in the couch again, but it would be worth it. "But he wasn't doing such a good job, so their sending someone else."

"Seriously? Who?" Theo asked. He grabbed Scott's arm and helped him walk down the sidewalk, taking Scott's wobbling balance.

"Uh. Dude. Don't know. Calls himself Stiles." Scott said, his adrenaline crashing.

Theo tensed under his arm. He looked over to see the beta's eyes flashing. "Stiles? The Rune Master?"

"Don't know dude. Why?"

"He's dangerous Scott. Really dangerous." Theo said, tense. "I've heard rumors about him. They call him The Void." Theo said, looking worried. "And his apprentice is The Beast. They leave trails of bodies in every city their in, decimating covens and packs and teams of hunters whenever they want. Just for fun. Just for standing up to the Void and Beast."

"S'nds 'scary." Scott mumbled. Deaton vouched for Stiles. He'd called to tell them where Erica and Boyd were. Until he met the guy, Scott would consider him okay.

"Just be careful, Scott." Theo said. "You never know who the monsters are till it's too late."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow that took forever to write. Got in trouble for reading it out loud, too. But huzza! Another chapter. Next one might be a day or two. Depends. Instead of writing it all in one night I'd like to write it, then edit it a while later, just so I can end it not-so abruptly.


	4. Storm in a Teakettle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles meets both packs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Might have some smelling errors in it--I had to rush the proofing

  **CHAPTER FOUR. STORM IN A TEAKETTLE**

* * *

* * *

* * *

* * *

 

Heather did a doubt take. 

A face formed from the clouds of mist. Beautiful cheek bones, beauty marks, spiked hair and a parted full mouth. Pretty enough to almost be effeminate, but somehow as far from it as a man could get, with the tattoos and black clothes and dark gaze. Those eyes met hers as the vapor clouds fully lifted, and winked.

"Um," She got closer, "Hi."

"Hey." The stranger said, before putting a bulky vape to his mouth. A short inhale later, and there was fog between them again. Her eyes watched the vape, unable to look him in the eyes for very long. 

"I've never tried before." She said, smelling blueberries in the air. "I heard that they have more formaldehyde than cigarettes do." Smooth, Heather, real smooth. Talk about how he's poisoning his lungs. A real conversation starter, that.

But he didn't seem to mind. He smiled with his eyes, not his mouth. "Maybe." He lifted it up, as if he'd never seen it before. "I like it better than actual cigarettes, though."

"Smell better." She offered.

His laugh was deep. "Fuck yeah."

"You smoked?" She asked, stepping closer. "Before?" She took a side step, trying to avoid a woman on her phone that wasn't paying attention as she existed the airport. 

"Pack a day," He said, inhaling again. "Bought this bad boy one day on a whim and never touched a cigarette again."

"That's good." She smiled, hoping that it didn't look too nervous. He seemed old, though he couldn't be more than twenty-five. Maybe it was the tattoos, she was a sucker for tattoos, but there was something about him. Relaxed, but somehow intense. 

“Better than the pills and the patches, that’s for sure. Though, with all the propaganda and slander out there, you’d think it’s the next black plague.” He sighed out his vapor. “Sure, no one wants their kids with nicotine of any kind in their bodies, but once you’re hooked, you can’t just look around and say ‘hey, just choose not to’, you know? Your life is changed. You get a habit, get addicted. I say it’s better to choose the semi-healthier option.”

She found herself blinking, caught off guard by his easy babble. She'd never tried cigarettes before, or anything, really. Usually she just made fun of vaping, but it was hard to call it douchey when such a hot guy was doing it. When he parted his lips... "Can I try?" She asked.

"Gotta see some ID." He said, obviously joking as he handed her the tank. "It's also got CBD in it, so..." He shrugged, holding it out, letting her choose.

"I'm 19." Heather said proudly. The vape was surprisingly heavy. 

His smile was kind. "You might want to turn it down." He said. "It'll go as low as 40."

She looked down at it. There was a screen that had a big, orange-red 125 on it, next to a string of numbers and symbols, a large white bar, and the words Puff next to a large number in the thousands. A sticker was on it, where you held it in your hands, a tie-dyed pink with a melting smiley face that said  _Have a Nice Trip_. She had no idea what that meant, but it seemed appropriate, since she'd just gotten off an airplane. "Umm..."

"Here." He stood by her, pointing to the bottom button above the screen. "Press that." He motioned to a different button. "When your ready, inhale and press this. It sucks the first time, even if your used to smoking cigarettes. Made me feel like I was suffocating, honestly. Lungs don't really want anything in them but air." He moved away quickly, to lean back against the wall.

She did, surprised by the feeling--even more surprised by the heavy coughing, even though she'd been warned. "Oh--oh  _jeeze_ ," She handed it back. "You weren't kidding." She grabbed at her chest, but the feeling passed quickly. "I don't think I'll be getting one any time soon.

"Honestly, forty is still pretty high." He held a button, putting the number back up to one-twenty five. 

"So, um, are you waiting for anyone?" A girlfriend, maybe?

"Co-worker, of a sorts." He said, looking out into the parking lot. He seemed lost for a bit, eyes going distant. Heather wondered if it was a creepy question to ask someone you'd just met.

"Oh." Stupid. She could do better than that.

"You?" He asked lightly.

"Parents." She wrinkled her nose. "Taking a semester off."

"What's your major?"

"It's a toss up really, between History and Physical Science. Eventually I'll figure it out. What about you? Every try college?" She looked over his tattoos. Definitely not a doctor.

"Yeah. A bit." He smirked, looking down at his feet. 

She wasn't about to say more, when she saw her mom's Subaru drive by and pull up a few feet away. "That's my ride." She said, moving out of the awning, walking backwards so she could watch him. "I got a strange question but, uh, do you want to go to a party. It's about a week away." That was enough time to call up her friends and actually set up one, usually. A few people still around from Prep would make a small crowd, but enough that she could actually call it a party. "Just a few people, but I'd really like it if you came."

If the request was odd to him, he didn't show it. His smile, though, was tight. "Yeah, sure, I think that'd be great." He reached into his back pocket and gave her his phone, and she quickly put in her number and texted herself. His contact would definitely be  _hot airport guy_. "Awesome, well, I should, uh..." She started walking towards her mom's Subaru, knowing her mom would start blasting her with impatient text messages any time now. "Go. You know?"

"Bye..." He laughed. "I don't even know your name."

"Heather." She said.

He nodded. "Stiles."

She beamed at him, slowly walking away.

* * *

 _How was the flight_? Mason nearly ran into the flag pole as he sent the text. He spun around it, falling into a student. A cute tan guy with a really nice smile, who grabbed Mason by the shoulders and told him to watch where he was going--but in a really nice way--before letting him go.

 _Long_. Stile replied.  _You at the school?_

 _Registered yesterday. The little charm you gave me is getting warmer the closer I get_. He sent, watching his feet as he heading up the school steps.

Stiles called him. "Yeah?" He answered.

"See if you can find out where it's coming from." Stiles said. It sounded like he was in a car--there was a lot of wind. "The school, or outside it? If you can pin it down to one person, great. Avoid that motherfucker like the plague." 

"That's it? What if they like, I don't like, avada cadabra me or something?"

"Magic doesn't work like that, Mace."

"Yours does."

"No, it doesn't. My magic make sense, it's not some random imposition of will on the laws of the universe--I can't just kill people with my magic on a whim. It's got balance. A cost. I--"

"--alter things to suit my purposes within the guidelines of magical forces in this and that, yeah, yeah. I know. Sure. But then how does possession work?" Mason got a strange look from a pretty brown haired girl with pale skin he thought he recognized--but she was gone in the crowd before Mason could figure out why. 

"Possession is different."

"Then how--"

"Mace. Fucking focus here." Stile said. "Deaton says only the McCall pack is going to school today. The Hales are too worried about their betas. Find McCall. Meet the pack. See if you can locate who the Darach is with the protection spell. Unless it turns ice cold, she's not casting anything on you, so it's okay if your just around him--"

"Don't be sexist. It could be a girl."

"It. Let's call the Darach an it. I'm pretty sure that as long as your in public _it_ won't try anything. Either way you're mind is pretty solid on mind control, and your body is built like a fucking tank to withstand any magical forces. You're covered on both ends, if  _it_ is even stupid enough to try anything in public."

"But--" Stiles hung up on him. "Jerk." He muttered, shoving his phone in his pocket. "I got this though, find the pack." He was the breaker of mountain ash. He got this.

"What pack?"

Mason jumped and spun around, seeing a guy his age staring at him. Was everyone in this town pretty? He looked at the kid, realizing he did recognize him. His face had been in the files Stiles had had him look over before moving here. He was a pack member. "Uh, the McCalls. You know..." He lifted up his hand, imitating fangs.

The kid looked at him, then grabbed his arm and hauled him off towards the lockers. "Who are you? What--what do you want?" He looked nervous, looking up and down the halls like he was looking for someone. "You don't smell weird but--"

"Thanks."

"--but that doesn't mean you should know about the McCalls."

"I'm Mason." Mason said, pressing a hand to his chest. "I'm uh, here with the Emissaries." He couldn't call himself an emissary. It was like calling yourself a cop when you weren't one--and the Alliance tended to get pretty pissed when they heard about any false reputation. Mason didn't want a bunch of witches coming after him.

"Aren't you too young?" The kid squinted at him, as if he could see crows feet if he just looked hard enough.

Mason smiled. "Look, uh, Liam, right?" The kid nodded slowly. "I'm Mason." He pointed to him. "I'm awesome. I'm friendly. I mean you no harm. I'm just here to get my diploma just like you--but also to get your Alpha to meet my teacher--your new emissary. Just to get faces friendly with each other, get things rolling for the alliance."

Liam's look wasn't really suspicious, but it was close. "I've heard some things about you."

Mason blinked. Weirdly, he felt like crying. Even here, he couldn't get away from the rumors. His tongue felt swollen, and there wasn't enough saliva in his mouth to swallow. It just rested there, between straight rows of teeth. "All good, I hope."

"None of it was very good."

"Oh."

"Yeah,  _oh_." Liam frowned at him, but jerked his head backwards, like he liked Mason's reaction. "C'mon, man. Scott's probably waiting for the bell to ring by Kira's locker. I can show you."

"Yeah man, thanks." They walked down the halls together till Mason saw Scott McCall. He was exactly like his picture, if a bit tanner. Kira, too. They were standing with a boy that Mason hadn't seen before, but he carried himself well, obviously confident.

"Guys, Scott, this is, uh... Mason." Liam said, when they were close enough.

"Hi." Mason raised his hand as a wave.

"Hello." Kira smiled over at him, her sweetness showing through.

"Welcome to Beacon Hills High." Scott said. "Um, I'm Scott. This is Kira, and this is Theo."

"Mason." Mason said. It felt like he'd been saying his name a lot lately. "Where's Hayden?" Everyone looked at him weird. "I'm uh, well versed in your guyses pack. Deaton kind of filled me in on everything."

"Your friends with Deaton." Scott asked. "Your..."

"Mason." 

"Your The Beast." Theo said, casual.

Scott reacted to that, tensing up a bit, looking between Theo and Mason and back again. " _Your_ The Beast?"

Moments like these, Mason realized he had teeth. Teeth that were made of bone, like the stuff in his arms and legs and surrounding his heart. The stuff that kept him upright, kept his brain from getting hurt, was the stuff in his mouth, always pressed against his tongue, ready to come out and snap shut. "Uh, no, not really. I mean I am, but I'm not. It's really complicated. Like, really complicated." He tried his best to smile. "Really I'm just plain old Mason with a weird like, alter ego. But it's all under wraps, really. I'm safe for general population." He looked from Theo, whose stare was searching, pleasant--to Kira, who was shyly watching him.

Liam moved closer, bumping shoulders with him. "Temper problems?"

"Yeah. Yeah something like that."

"I got em too." Liam nodded.

"We all do." Scott said easily. "Let's all meet up and talk at lunch. I bet your, uh, master?"

"Teacher." Mason said, scrunching up his nose.

"I bet your teacher wants to meet with us. And I'd liked to get to know you." Scott said, and they all started to pull away from the lockers as the bell rang. "I have a feeling that Lydia will want to interrogate you."

Liam put his arm around Mason's shoulder, only a little too strong for a human. "I feel sorry for you already."

* * *

"She isn't healing." Derek snarled.

"Deaton said--" Jackson tried, ducking when Derek grabbed something and threw it at him. He smelled of worry and annoyance and fear. Derek liked it better when he smelled like anger; a sharp, dry smell, like scales.

"She. Isn't. Healing." 

"And," Peter pointed out, standing in the corner of the room. "Boyd is going absolutely mad."

"Shut up Peter." Malia hissed. She was pacing from the bed to the kitchen, and back. 

"Just thought we should get our ducks in a row."

Derek flexed his hands. Claws grew and receded, breaking skin only to heal and break again. "She isn't healing." He hissed. He wouldn't loose her. He wouldn't.

"Well duh!" Jackson spat. "An Alpha clawed her up. Broke her bones. Of course she's not healing." He glared over at Derek, as if daring him to throw something else. He didn't back down when Derek flashed his eyes at him. Getting stronger. Good. They'd need a strong pack.

"We-"

The door to the loft opened. Derek ran. He would be there first, in front of his pack. He couldn't smell anything. Hadn't heard anything.  _Danger_ , he thought.  _I will not loose anyone else_.

He was stopped immediately by a wall, thrown off his feet and flung backwards. He got back up, full shifted, snarling. Malia, Jackson, and Peter were all behind him--anger and fear and discontent mixed in with readiness. Isaac was safe with Boyd, making sure the young beta didn't run into town to kill anyone. Erica--

He looked over to Erica, lying still and broken in his bed, barley breathing.

He looked back to the stranger. Derek would not loose anyone else.

The stranger, though, only arched an eyebrow. He was all tattoos and black clothes. "I heard you guys could be a little... uh, aggressive--but damn." A familiar voice, if changed by a lack of distortions that came with phones. Derek felt his muscles loosen, but he stayed ready, in front of his pack, claws out. "I come in peace." The guy lifted his left hand, splaying his fingers in some Star Trek symbol. "Seriously. No need for fangs and claws now. I'm just here to say hi." When Derek could smell no ones relief--he stayed tense. "Jesus, I feel bad for your mailman."

"I can't smell you." Derek snarled.

"Trust me, you wouldn't want to." The guy said easily. "Can I come in?"

"Try it." Malia hissed. "I'll tear you to shreds."

The guy stayed perfectly still. He stood in the doorway, his hand still on the industrial door. His eyebrows slowly lifted as his peace-symbol lowered. "Well then." He looked at all of them, and Derek felt naked and weird when heavy brown eyes looked him up and down. "What'll make you calm the fuck down?"

"Who are you." Derek demanded.

"Question marks buddy, they make things a lot easier." The guy said. He shrugged though, crossing his arms and leaning against the door jam. "I'm a rune master. I'm the guy who told you where your missing pack members were so you could save them. I'm the guy who will get you to chill your tits so you can align with the McCall pack and not all die 'cus your damn town is aptly named--and if you think Alpha werewolves are bad, sourwolf, trust me, you don't even want to know what else can get attracted by the raw, untamed power your fucking nemeton is giving off. I'm the guy who is going to save your female beta's life.  _Again_." A pause. "I'm Stiles."

Derek blinked. "Why can't I smell you."

Stiles sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I can see why it took two fucking years dude. I really can."

"What."

"I think I like him." Peter said. He was moving to stand in front of Malia, a clear sign that 'like' to him came hand in hand with 'mistrust'.

"A--no you don't." Stiles said, pointing at Peter. He shot Derek a nasty look when Derek growled at him. "B--you can't smell me because I don't want you to. It's called magic, Derek. Maybe you've heard of it, maybe you haven't. Who knows, with all the shitty spells laying around here to protect the place, Deaton isn't obviously much of a mage."

"He mostly just stand around, saying confusing things." Jackson said.

"Fucking druids." The guy rolled his eyes. "Trust me, Derek. Smelling me will not make you suddenly trust me."

Smells told Derek who people were. Smelling him would say whether he was  _worthy_ of trust. "Then you don't come in."

Stiles's face screwed itself up in a weird expression. Or combination of expressions. All of it somehow managing to say  _'are you fucking kidding me'_ he looked past Derek into the room, ignoring Derek's snarl. "Is he fucking kidding me? I have a job to do."

"Lift the spell or leave." Malia snarled.

Stiles threw his hands up. "Fuck! Fine, but don't say I didn't warn you, seriously." And something strange happened. The air didn't get colder, but it started to smell colder. Then colder. Until it smelled the way air smelt when something dangerous was coming in the wind. When trees snapped and broke from the air, and water rose too high. It got worse when he started smelling electricity, a crackling thing that stung at his nose hairs. 

"You don't smell human." Derek snarled, readying his claws again.

"Because I'm not." The guy snapped. The electricity made Derek sneeze. "Your closer to human that I am, wolf."

"What are you." Derek got closer, near where he'd been slammed down by magic. If he played it right, he could jump the guy before he could summon another invisible wall.

"I am the darkness that fills your heart when you think of your dead family. I am the guilt, the sorrow, the lack of meaning in every day life. I am the cruelty that drove your uncle to madness. I am the reason your niece cries at night, because she knows that it's her fault her parents died. I am the unrelenting, unforgiving lack of self-worth that your beta feels every time he fails at something. When he just isn't good enough." Stiles said it casually, with no emotion, no feeling. Like facts, presented in a flamboyant, almost ridiculous prose. "I am the void." 

"What."

Stiles rolled his eyes again. "Brick wall, my friend, brick wall."

"I'm not your friend."

"And you prove my point for me." Stiles smiled at him. "You want to know who I am?" He took a step into the apartment. Derek didn't move. He stood ready, wanting to jump, but he couldn't. The smell of fear was everywhere, his pack's scent blooming and shifting as if it was being picked up by the wind that was coming from nowhere, burned by electricity that wasn't there. 

It wasn't like when Derek was attacked by Kanima Jackson. He didn't drop to the ground, growing so numb he couldn't even twitch. Derek could feel his body. The hair on his arms and legs were standing on end from the smell in the room, his fingers were clenched and claws ready. He just... couldn't move. Not even twitch.

Stiles walked further into the room. Derek found himself turning his head to watch him, but wasn't able to control it. He was forced to watch Stiles walk right up to Malia, past Peter's frozen figure, and caress her face, push the hair back. She only watched him, frozen with Peter and Derek, as the stranger scent marked her. Then he walked up to Jackson, poking the boy in the forehead with two fingers, and Jackson stumbled back, loosing his footing, but was still afterwards, and didn't attack. 

They stood there, helpless. Like living dolls, waiting to me moved and placed around by bigger hands.

Stiles turned and walked right up to Derek. The man's eyes were a dark brown, the bags under his eyes dark and red, like he had a disease. He got so close to Derek that they started to share the same breathe, mint and blueberries mixed with the crackle of a storm. And Derek was helpless, unable to move, unable to do anything as the man grabbed the back of his neck. Derek's face came forward, though he didn't want it to, and his forehead rested against Stiles's. The heat on the back of his neck was searing. "Who am I Derek?" Stiles asked, his voice a whisper against Derek's lips. "I am power. I am undoing. Chaos." There were so close that when Stiles's eyelashes moved as the man looked down, Derek could feel them. "I am many things. And I will do what I came here to do, oh Alpha, my Alpha. Your either with me or against me."

Derek didn't notice that he could move until he heard Jackson moving, running over to attack. Derek held up his hand, warning the beta away. He didn't move from Stiles's grip, just looked straight into the brown eyes and said, "You will not harm my pack."

"Is that a question?" Stiles asked softly.

"A...demand." Derek said. "I'll work with you. You won't harm them.

"I will do everything in my power to protect them."

If the guy tried anything Derek would kill him the first chance he got.

* * *

Mason liked the school. He liked the pack that he met here and there in the halls and elective rooms. He had a lot of classes with Liam, and the more they talked, the more he realized how much they had in common--how good a friendship would be if Stiles didn't do something dangerous and show-offy and fuck it all up.

"What's that?" Liam asked, bumping shoulders again. He did that a lot.

"This? It's a protection charm." He looked down at the gold coin he was playing with, which was only lukewarm right now. He tried doing a loop around the school between each class, finding that it was strongest near this one classroom in the English department--but he hadn't gone in to figure out why yet, too worried about getting to class on time.

"Yeah? I got one of those." Liam pulled out a large wooden circle with a symbol on it, one Mason recognized from Stile's spell books. Three spirals connected together with a kind of lopsided triangle. "It's supposed to help me concentrate whenever I feel like I'm loosing control. It's the only way I can come to school on a full moon."

"That's today, right?"

"Yeah. The pull is always strong." Liam winced. "It's worse when the full moon is on a test day. I get so anxious I practically tear my desk apart trying to stay human."

"Hey, man." He grabbed Liam's shoulder. "You got this. You seem calm."

Liam smiled. "For now."

"Liam has impeccable control." Scott said, joining them as they headed to the lunch room. "But anything helps."

Mason watched Liam pull the wood circle back into his pocket. "Isn't that the Hale pack symbol?"

"Yeah." Scott shrugged. "It's Derek's actually. We figured it'd help."

"Does it have magic in it?" Something like that would really help with his own wolf.

"Naw," Scott gave a smile, and it seemed oddly dopey, for someone who was rumored to be so powerful. "It just helps you concentrate."

"The Sun. The Moon. The Truth." Liam said. "My anchor."

They walked together into the cafeteria, Scott and Liam heading to table withe their homemade lunches. Mason got into line, worried suddenly. The gold coin was only mildly warm now, but he felt off. He really liked this pack. He didn't want to feel guilty about what he and Stiles were planning to do here. These guys didn't deserve it. 

He stowed his emotions away, getting some slimy looking pizza before heading over to the McCall Pack. There was Scott, sitting next to Kira. Liam and Hayden. Two girls he thought he recognized, one with orange hair and the other brown--and Theo, sitting on the end, smiling. His smile dropped when Mason sat down across from him, poking at his limp fries. 

"So your Mason." Mason looked over to the ginger girl, who was beautiful in a sexy silent-era way. Her stare was intense. "You don't look dangerous."

"I'm really not." He offered, spooning at his peas and carrots. 

"But you've killed people." He felt like he was on a witness stand, everyone watching him as the girl rapidly fired off observations. She had to be Lydia.

Mason looked down, wondering what he should say. There were stories he could give, ones Stiles had told him to say. He could say the rumors were all fabricated; it wasn't him who had done those things--Mason was no Beast. Or he was trying to chase down The Beast, capture it, and that's why he was always in the same town as the killing sprees. Or the twin one, which hardly anyone believed but made Stiles cackle like he'd heard the best joke ever. He looked back up at the group, watching them all stare at him. Liam was smiling encouragingly. "S'okay dude. Everyone here has things their not proud of." He said. Theo shifted in his seat.

Mason nodded. "Uh--yeah. Okay. So about seven years ago I was living in Chicago. Got abducted." He rolled his tongue against his teeth, feeling each one in their rows. "I don't know what happened, how it happened. Just kind of blacked out I guess. I woke up in this abandoned house in Michigan." It had been cold that night, snowing. He hand't understood why he was naked, why his hair was so messed up, why he smelled so disgusting. Stiles had been there, sitting next to him. It had been his jacket that had been draped over Mason's junk, to give him some modesty. He'd been so calm that Mason hadn't freaked out at first, just took the booze Stiles handed over without a word. "Apparently I blacked out for two years. Stiles had no idea how it happened, but whoever had taken me had...I don't know, changed me. Used me for a spiritual summoning. Possessed me. Altered my conscience." Mason shrugged. "I really don't know what they did. Stiles doesn't know either. Just now, I'm... a werewolf, but not?" He asked, watching their faces. "Like, I was never bitten. But I was spelled--a werewolf by magic."

"I've never heard of that." The brown haired girl said. She was the one he'd knocked into in the halls. Pretty and pale.

"Yeah. No one has." He rubbed the back of his head. "All I know is that when I don't have control of myself, I get consumed and La Bete du Gevaudan comes--" 

They obviously recognized the name. The brown haired girl and Scott started to talk to each other, looking worried--and Lydia stared harder at him. "How does it work?" She demanded.

"Ugh." He looked at Scott and the girl. They were whispering things like 'I've heard-' and 'Gerard' and 'no way'. "It's um. A lot like possession. Only I can't get rid of him like you can when your possessed. He's in me now, forever."

"And you get angry, you black out?" Mason nodded. "What triggers it?"

"Anger." Mason said. Scott and the girl looked over at him. "Ugh, bloodlust I guess. Creepy stuff, like Steven King stuff, and then..." He snapped his fingers. Liam jumped.

"How do you get out of it?" Hayden asked, staring at him with an expression he couldn't decipher.

"Stiles." Mason shrugged. "He apparently chased me down for a year, that first time. He has all the details, but I nearly killed him like, four times. The fifth time, he did something, brought me back." Mason looked down at his food. "I haven't asked how--it seems... traumatic."

"So your a normal boy with a mythical bloodthirsty killing spirit inside you, and we have no way of stopping you once you go agro." Hayden said, rolling her eyes. "Awesome."

"We need to talk to this Stiles." Scott said. "Allison, can you talk to your dad about it?"

The girl nodded. They sat in tense silence.

"I'm working to control it." Mason offered. "I mean, it's been hard, but--"

"You'd need a powerful source of magic to really contain it." Theo said, his eyes narrowing.

Mason looked over, feeling that guilt settle over him again. "My own magical anchor. Yeah."

"Tonight." Scott said, breaking the tense silence that had settled over all of them. "Tonight Stiles should come over to my place and we can all talk about it. We'll all be there."

"I can't tonight." Lydia said, sighing. "I have a mathletes tournament over at Beacon Prep all weekend."

"We'll fill you in." Kira promised. She seemed shy, and was almost always silent.

"Here, give me your phone." Scott said. "I can text you the address." Mason gave it to him without mentioning that he already knew where the McCall house was. That he knew where all their houses were, and almost everything about them from birth till now--except for Theo. Most people didn't like strangers knowing the intimate details of their lives, though.

"Deaton wasn't kidding about that whole knife thing." Scott said, handing the phone back.

"What?" Mason listened to Scott describe the metaphor Deaton had all told them, about a king wanting a man stabbed three hundred times with knives. Mason was quiet, wondering if they realized Deaton had been trying to warn them.

For some reason he looked over at Theo, who was staring at him with an expression Mason couldn't read. Theo, he thought, was the only one who got it.

* * *

 "I need to see your other beta." Stiles said, throwing himself onto the couch. "The one that had been trapped with Erica."

"Heal her first." Derek demanded. He hated how Stiles made himself at home.

"Can't." Stiles pulled out his phone. "Whatever they were doing--it was spell work. I might even have to see that vault. But, basically, she's tied to this... Boyd-guy." Stiles shrugged, rapidly texting. "The reason why she can't heal is because he's sucking out all her lycanthropy mojo and she's near human right now. I'm guessing he's freaking out, unable to control himself or his shift back to normal?"

Derek was silent. He looked at Peter, who was smirking out the windows that led to the balcony.

"Yeah. I'll take that as a yes." Stiles looked up from his phone. "Oddly convenient timing, this. That Boyd was freed from the vault just before the full moon, when he would be least controlled."

"I'd tried saying the same thing." Peter offered.

"Not a good sign." Jackson muttered. He was standing in the kitchen with Malia, making a sandwich for her. 

"How'd the fight go down?" Stiles asked.

"We lost." 

Stiles arched an eyebrow. "Care to elaborate there big guy?"

Derek stayed silent. Stiles sighed. "Fine. You lost, but you got them back. However it went down, it probably means they wanted you to get them back."

"A beta saved us."

"Who?" 

Derek shrugged. "New guy. McCall pack."

"Hmm." Stiles stood up and started walking. "How'd he do it though? I mean, one beta against the Alpha pack a fully formed packs couldn't defeat?" He shook his head. "Mighty suspicious." He grabbed Derek's keys, sitting in a bowl by the door. "C'mon! Were going."

Derek snarled, pointing to his betas in the kitchen. "Stay." He ordered. "Look after her." With one last look at Erica, he followed the mage down the steps. The smell of a storm was gone, disappearing almost immediately after Stiles had released Derek's head. Now there was nothing. It was like he was walking down the landing alone, not following a stranger. It unnerved him, and he didn't want to be alone with the man.

"So," Stiles said, throwing him the keys and getting into the passenger seat. "Let's get to know one another."

Derek said nothing. He got into the car, starting it. He ignored Stiles as Stiles fiddled with the radio, putting it on some indie station Derek had never listened too. "What's your favorite color?"

Derek said nothing.

"Do you like chocolate?"

Silence, outside of the rough crooning of the song. _Well, I guess it's for the best they laid you down to rest._

"No? Fine. How are you going to finally deal with the fact that you killed your entire family?" Stiles asked. Derek stomped on the breaks of his car, grabbing the man by his shirt before he knew he was doing it, fully shifted and snarling into his face. The man didn't look fazed, staring at Derek with an infuriating calm. "Well? I mean, have you even gone to therapy? You got some anger issues dude."

"Don't call me dude." Derek snarled.

The man rolled his eyes. "There we go again,  _Derek_. You've missed the point."

Derek snarled, throwing the man back against the seat. _Some rotten man. Nobody's savior._ "It's none of your business."

"I think it is." Stiles said, pulling something out of his pocket. "I mean, I'm here to help you and the McCalls get along, right? Sounds to me like you can't do that till you get over your hang ups."  _And when I do sleep, the nightmares come._ _This hell I live in hasn't been the same without you here._ He put the thing up to his lips, and the car was suddenly filled with fragrant smoke.

"Don't smoke in my car." Derek snarled, grabbing the wheel with his two hands, hearing it crunch as his fingers indenting it. _I can't believe the mess I've made of things._ _And of course, I know you could have done much better._ _And I know that I must have been a real fucking nightmare._ _Some rotten man. Nobody's savior._ He punched the stereo off, nearly breaking the button.

"Does it bother you that you can't control me?" Stiles asked easily, puffing on the thing again, filling the car with more smoke. "Or does it bother you more that you can't get me angry?"

Derek snarled, punching the gas so he could get to Boyd faster.

"Hmmm. Careful. You don't want to get pulled over." Stiles said lightly. "And while your avoidance of the subject is... well, predictable dude--"

"Don't call me dude."

"It's not healthy." Stiles finished. "You need to learn to trust again."

"And I should trust you?" He asked, snarling.

"No. No you should not." Stiles murmured. "I mean, we've only just met, and I'd never ask that of you unless I've, oh, say, saved your beta's life. But you should at least trust the people you love. Your pack."

Derek's lip curled up. "What? My uncle who killed my sister? My cousin who would murder people without a second thought if anyone didn't stop her? Or--"

"Their dangerous because your dangerous Derek. Their connection is with you. The root of the problem." Stiles paused. "Except for Peter. He's a lost cause."

"How do you know any of this?" Derek asked, whipping around a corner. "You don't know any of us."

"No. But I know about you. Deaton's told me some, but mostly I can just feel it. In my bones, I feel your... chaos." Stiles seemed to glower a little, staring off into space for a second. "It's like I can hear all of it singing to me."

"You--"

Blue and red lights flashed in his review mirror. He cursed, pulling over. He moved past Stiles, into the glove box to grab his things as the cop walked up. "Don't say a word." Derek snarled. 

The deputy knocked on his window, and said, "Do you know how fast you were going?" He was young, younger than Derek remembered most of the deputies being. He looked over at Derek, then at Stiles, seeming to not like the look of either of them.

"The speed limit, officer." Derek said, trying to calm his anger. Breathing in and out. At least this man had a scent--like char, like smoke, like deodorant and sweat and laundry detergent.

"No, no you were not going the speed limit. You were going fifty in a twenty five zone." He said, sighing. "Licence and registration, please. And you," He looked over at Stiles, frowning. "Yours too."

"Why officer, have I done anything wrong?"

Derek glared over at Stiles, who was smiling pleasantly at the deputy. "I have the right to get information on any person in a car I've pulled over." The deputy said. "Reasonable cause."

"Profiling, you mean. If your going to call a duck a duck, might as well be honest about why." Stiles took out his wallet though, and handed over a card. Derek did the same. 

"Stay right here." He said. "Please take your keys out of the ignition." 

Derek sighed, but did as he was told. The deputy moved back to his car and Stiles looked stupidly smug. "Told you." He said.

"Shut up."

* * *

Mason walked into his last period an English class, then walked immediately out. He apologized to the girl he stumbled into, then walked out of the school. He was texting Stiles as soon as the coin get cold enough to not sear his chest through his shirt. _The Darach is an E_ _nglish teacher. Blake._

He looked around, wondering if he should wait for school to end and then head home with some of the McCall pack--and was surprised to see two twins on identical bikes loitering in the parking lot. They looked up and watched Mason as he walked by, eyes trailing. He wasn't strong enough to do anything to them, and he didn't even known what he'd do, really. In Emissary terms, the land was unclaimed. The twin Alphas had every right to be here.

His phone buzzed.  _A teacher? Smart. I'll see what I can do about her in a bit. What do you remember about the spell around the vault?_

_I have a class with her. Can you transfer me to a different one?_

_Yeah bud._

He tried to think back to the spell around the Vault.  _It was like a magical wall. Tingled when I touched it, and I just pressed really hard until it broke. Soundless._

 _Be safe Mace_.

Mason looked over to the Alphas, who was just waiting. Safe, yeah.

* * *

 

Isaac looked up as heard Derek coming over the sounds of Boyd's roaring. Relief made him sag. "Oh, thank-" He stopped as he saw and smelt the anger and... it smelled like fragility coming off Derek's body. The Alpha though, was a glowering mess as he stomped into the train yard. A dark figure followed him, soundless, smellless.

"Um." He stood, standing in front of the only way in and out of the train Boyd was slowly rocking from side to side on the rails. He'd been trying to beat down the door before, and Isaac had had to blow wolfsbane in the small vent by the enforced windows. They hadn't used the train in years, since Erica had started controlling her shifts better. He'd hoped he never had to lock one of his friends in here again. Just like he'd hoped by taking the bite that he could somehow get away from the violence of his life. His wishes tended to turn to dust in his hands. "What's going on?"

"This is Stiles." Derek groused out. Standing in front of Isaac.

"Hi." The guy did a little finger wave.

"Uh, hi." Isaac looked to Derek, wondering what was going on.

"Let's see what good old Boyd is up to." Stiles walked past them, to the door.

"Don't--"

But Stiles was already opening the door. In seconds, Boyd was slamming it open all the way, launching himself at Stiles. He was fully shifted, claws tearing into Stiles flesh, howling. Stiles fell and was shredded in seconds. Before Isaac could even jump over, Derek put a hand out and stopped him. He watched Stiles grow bloody with a grim smile.

"Interesting." Stiles said, voice clear under Boy'd snarling. Mangled hands came up and grabbed Boyd on either side of his head, the werewolf was to concentrated on ripping out Stile's stomach to notice. In seconds, he was calm, his snarling stopped. "C'mere, little wolf. Follow my voice." Stiles said. Boyd started to unshift, slowly, his claws never leaving the inside of Stiles's stomach. "That's right, follow my voice. Ignore the crashing of the waves. Erica is safe. Your safe." Last to go were Boyd's eyes, and within an instant his smell was back to normal. He stood crouched over Stiles, fingers in gore, blinking. "What is your name?"

"Vernon." Boyd said, before he started to cry. "Vernon." He fell ontop of Stiles fully, sobbing, clutching the ruined body he'd just attacked.

Isaac had to look away, weirdly embarrassed. He looked to Derek, whose back was turned. Hands fisted and shoulders shaking. 

\---------

"A druid did it." Stiles said, snapping his pinky so it was in the right socket. He was covered in blood from head to toe, slashed almost everywhere, but apparently unaffected by the pain of it. "Used the vault as a kind of incubator for a spell normally too powerful for nature magic." He got to work on the slashes on his stomach, lifting up his shirt to pinch the wounds closed, one by one. As soon as the torn flesh touched, it mended, healed. Isaac watched in fascination as the ruined tattoos over his skin bloomed back up, covering the fresh scars as if they weren't there.

"Who is this guy?" He asked Derek. He didn't expect a reply and he didn't get one.

"It bound Boyd and Erica together--seeping Erica's lycanthropy into Boyd. That's why you felt so crazed." Stiles said to Boyd, who was sitting down by Isaac, drained. "It's still technically there, I haven't broken the actual spell--shit, I don't even know what spell it is." He pinched the torn flesh of his face together, mending it flawlessly. "From what I can tell, you have a kind of mock Alpha power now, with no anchor or knowledge of how to deal with it. It's why you feel so much right now. Like a live wire. You're not meant to hold that much power." When Stiles said it, he looked at Derek, who was still and closed off. 

"Why would a druid do that?" Boyd asked, rubbing his head over and over again.

"They wouldn't. They usually hate spells like this. I'm guessing they were forced to." Stiles shrugged. "It sounds like something the Alpha Pack might do. They love blurring the natural order of beta and Alpha."

"So they want Boyd to be an Alpha?" Isaac asked. He felt weirdly sick with the thought, looking to Derek, who was staring at Stiles as if he wanted to murder him.

"My guess? No. I don't really get what their end game is here, but a lot of the times they make one beta really strong, pin that uber-beta against the Alpha and see who wins. They pick members, tweaking the odds of a fight till they only have one survivor so fucked out of his mind he doesn't question to join them." Stiles shrugged, working on the wounds on his chest. "The new Alpha just wants a pack, and they'll join to get some connection to fill the loss."

"You know a lot about this." Derek said.

"Studied up."

"Druids don't do magic like this." He motioned to Boyd. "But you do."

Stiles arched his eyebrow. "Really dude?" He sighed, "I wasn't even in town when this happened."

"I have a feeling that wouldn't stop you." 

Stiles threw up his hands. "Fuck it. You know what? Fuck you." He pointed to Derek. "You fucking fuck. Get over your issues, seriously. I--" He said. "Am going to take a long hot shower and then figure out what the fucking I'm dealing with here so I can help Erica. Call me if you need your lives saved. Again." And he stormed off.

Isaac looked at Derek, who was glaring after Stiles. "I really don't think it was him." He offered.

"Me neither." Boyd said, still rubbing his head.

"Doesn't matter. I don't trust him." 

Isaac looked at Boyd, who was shaking his head. "I want to see Erica." He stood on shaky legs. "C'mon, lets go home."

* * *

 

A dark room, no moonlight, no trace of anything but old pain and the lingering smell of money. Stiles touched the walls, feeling not even a trace of magical substance. Mason had obliterated it into the night.

It was made of moonstone though, that was something. Stiles walked out of the vault, wondering what Druid had made the little trap he was about to spring.

* * *

"Pizza?"

"Yeah Scott, like seven full pizzas." Hayden said.

"You think that'll be enough?" He rubbed his hands against his jeans, trying to wipe the sweat off it.

She just gave him a look. She was good at those. He looked over to Kira, who was smiling like she got it. "You're like a blushing bride." She said, giggling.

Scott smiled, reaching over for her, wrapping her in his arms. "It's nerve wracking. I mean, all I heard about this guy--but I got a good feeling. Deaton wouldn't just let some guy come in to help us, you know? He's here to mend the land, get me and Derek working together."

She smiled up at him. Before she could speak, Theo said, "This guy is dangerous, Scott."

"So are we." Hayden flashed her eyes, play jumping at Liam, who yelped and fell over, chips flying everywhere.

Scott smiled at them, and said to Theo. "I asked Deaton. He said the guy was intense--and weird. But he's a solid guy. Good reputation in the community." He shrugged. "I mean, no reason to discount him, right? We won't let him into the pack or anything, we'll be careful, but I trust Deaton's opinion." 

"Your too trusting." Theo muttered.

"I've been saying that for years." Allison said, grabbing the bag of chips from the floor before more could fall out. 

"Mason was cool." Scott pointed out. "Maybe the rumors are just exaggerated." 

Theo obviously didn't agree, but he stayed quiet as they got the rest of the things ready. Hayden was already setting up the xbox. "The true test." She called it. She seemed to be able to judge people's characters based on their gaming skills.

Right at seven, the doorbell rang. Scott rushed over to the door, opening it with a grin. A stranger stood there, smell-less, even his heartbeat silent. Mason stood next to him, smiling. "Hey dude."

"Dude." Scott said, feeling his confidence leave him as he looked over the new guy. He  _did_ look dangerous. "Is that," He sniffed the air. "Is that pot?"

"You partake?" The stranger asked, arching an eyebrow. "Got some laced with a bit of mistletoe so it'll work on you." 

Scott opened the door wider. "Mi casa es su casa, bro."

"Dude," Stiles said, walking in after Mason. "You are already so much cooler than Derek. Though your not as hot, sorry to say."

Scott beamed. "Thanks?" He lifted his fist, and fist-bumped Stiles, as easy as that. The guy was in.

"Is that the Master Chief collection?" Stiles b-lined towards the tv, taking the controller from Hayden. "Oh  _yes_." He pulled two bags of weed out of his shoe and put them on the table, throwing himself down on the couch. "You better have your A-game girl."

"Always." Hayden said.

Scott walked to the kitchen, smiling at Theo, who was still at the table. "See?" He said, grabbing the pizzas. "Liam--you wanna grab the--"

"Back of the closet. Got it." He was already rushing up the steps. 

Scott put the pizzas down on the coffee table, flipping open the top lid and grabbing a slice before sitting next to Mason, who was looking at the boxes with a critical eye. "Don't think it'll be enough." He said, shaking his head.

"Right!" Scott said, around a mouth full of pizza. "That's w-at I was sayin'!"

Liam came down with the bong, sitting down on the floor. Theo eventually came in, sitting on the edge of the couch, sitting by Allison, who was frowning at the weed. "That's not legal you know." She said.

"Really?" Stiles asked, picking an RPG. "So are hunter's standard issue RTH react compound bows for someone under 18."

"I'm 18." But her frown lessened.

"I got the dryer sheets and the paper toilet roll." Liam said, smiling.

"Dude, no need. I got the magical skills." Stiles said, not looking up from the tv. "I can make it so no one smells it." He did a double take on the bong. "How many perks does that beast have?"

"Eight." Scott said, grinning.

"Oh hell yeah bro." 

Mason moved to grab it from Liam, packing the bowl. "Are the Hale pack not coming?"

"As if." Liam said, grabbing pizza.

"They keep to themselves." Allison explained.

"Call that dude. Vernon." Stiles said as the match started. "Seems like the dude needs a little relaxation."

"Who?" Kira asked, frowning.

"Huge guy--Boyd's his last name."

"Oh." Kira grabbed her phone. "You think he'll come?"

"No harm in trying." Scott said, grabbing Kira and pulling her into him. "Maybe he'll bring Isaac too? Jackson won't show up without Lydia, but I know Malia will come if theirs free food."

"Son of a bitch!" Hayden yelled, as she got shot.

"Haha--thought you were bringing your A-game?"

"Shut up." She snarled, shoving Stiles before leaning forward. "Your going down."

Scott looked over at Theo, seeing the guy settle down. He tried to silently tell his beta that everything was going to be okay. Things were good--safe for now. Scott had a good feeling. He'd wait later in the night--to see if the Hale betas showed up--till they got to the serious things like what was going on with Erica and the two emissaries dark reputations. But he had a really good feeling.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song stiles and derek listened to in the car is "Some bad men" by the Taxpayers. 
> 
> Next chapter:  
> Things get serious.


	5. Stale Air and Falling Snow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Progression

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been away from my keyboard for a long time, sorry about that if you're following the story. I'm trying to keep up with too many things right now--but I've written the next couple of chapters already, so they'll be put up pretty soon.
> 
> Probably a lot of typos, it's a little rushed too. I'd love a beta if anyone wants to do it.

  **CHAPTER FIVE. STALE AIR AND FALLING SNOW**

* * *

* * *

* * *

* * *

 

Scott found Boyd at school the next day. He was sitting alone at the table outside on the quad, staring down at his hands with an expression Scott understood immediately.

"Hey, uh, I'll meet you guys in a bit." He said, stopping.

Liam was frowning. "But practice starts--"

"Give coach an excuse for me." Scott grinned down at his beta and jogged over to Boyd, feeling his practice pads jerk with every motion. He wish he didn't have to wear them, he was indestructible to everyone on that field, but he couldn't just tell coach something like that.

"Hey," He said, when Boyd didn't look up. Scott got a kind of tired, desperate look in response, before Boyd turned back to his dangling hands. He didn't say a word. "We tried inviting you guys last night, when we were meeting Stiles. You didn't show."

"Yeah." Boyd nodded. "I didn't want to leave Erica."

"Oh. I get it." Scott sat down on the table next to him. Stiles had explained last night about the spells, about Boyd draining Erica's lycanthropy away, about how he was trying to fix it. "How is she doing?"

"How do you do it?" Boyd asked, voice soft. Scott looked over at him, confused. "How do you deal with all... this. I thought werewolf senses were strong. But everything feel so intense. Every emotion is crazy high. My strength is brand new. I just... I want to _destroy_ everything, and I don't even know why. I feel so alone." It was probably the most Scott had ever heard him speak.

"It's hard to deal with." Scott agreed, nodding. He looked up at the sky, as if it held the answers. "It really is. For the longest time I thought I was going crazy. But--it's like your first shift, yeah? You feel crazy and you just start doing things. Getting angry. Attacking. Feeling... feeling like you need other people--good people--around you or you'll just go bat shit." He winced, realizing his night with Stiles had somehow got him cursing more than usual. "It sucks but... it's you. It's all you. And you can't ignore it, so you just gotta feel it, and know why your feeling it, and choose what the best option is from there."

Boyd frowned. "Derek didn't describe it like that."

Scott patted Boyd on the shoulder, letting his hand rest there. "Don't be alone, Boyd. I know you've kinda always been a bit... uh, what's the word? Reclusive? Introverted? But it's not going to work for you right now. You'll go crazy. Be around your pack, and your always welcome to hang with mine. No pressure but--come on. Join practice." Scott grinned, using his strength to draw Boyd closer. "Practice will end by the time Stiles and Mason are getting ready for their big magic-thing to release you and Erica. It'll be awesome. C'mon."

"Your coach--" Boyd tried, but he really didn't resist Scott dragging him towards the field.

"Will be begging you to join the team within ten minutes, trust me."

They walked together towards the field. "So--what do you think of him? Stiles?" Scott asked.

It seemed to be a big question for Boyd, bigger than Scott thought it would be. For him, he either liked someone or he didn't. He trusted someone or he didn't. But he had a good feeling about Stiles and Mason. They were dangerous, sure, but Scott was pretty sure that as long as they were on his side, he would be the safest person in Beacon Hills. Boyd though, seemed to think very seriously about it before he said, "When I was feral... I wasn't me. Like when you loose control on the full moon but more intense. I didn't recognize my pack, like I was an omega, and I just wanted to run away. Find somewhere safe and kill everyone in my path until I felt solid." Scott nodded. "Stiles opened the door and I thought 'here's my chance'... but then he started speaking to me. I was literally tearing him apart but he just spoke to me. And it sounds crazy but his voice was so old. The oldest thing I've ever heard in my life. He told me to come back."

"It worked, obviously." Scott said, grinning. He'd have to tell Theo, maybe get the guy to not be so mistrustful.

"It did. Yeah. But Scott... it was terrifying." Boyd looked over at him, frowning. "The first thing that I felt other than a need for survival was fear. Like I was going to die fear. And it was because of his voice, not because of what I'd done--or what I'd wanted to do. It was because of how his voice sounded to me." He put his fist up to his chest, pounding it right over his heart so it hit with a meaty thump. "My heart still hurts remembering it."

That, Scott realized, he wouldn't tell Theo about. He slung his arm over Boyd, which was hard because he was so much taller, and they walked onto the field. "We'll figure it out." He promised, because he couldn't say anything else to that. "We'll figure it out."

* * *

 

"You're sure." Chris said, leaning against his desk, "That he said he was La Bete?"

Allison nodded tightly. "Yeah, he said he was spelled that way." She looked towards her dad, then away as he frowned down at the desk, his eyes far away. "Stiles--this emissary Deaton brought over," She explained, when his eyes flicked up towards her. "Is apparently the only one who can bring him back. He has no idea how."

"Hmmm."

"Have you heard of anything like that?"

"La Bete is dead." Chris said, walking over to his bookshelf. He grabbed a book and brought it back over, laying it down on the desk with a careful ease. He found the page he was looking for without flipping, the spine already creased to open to it naturally. A huge mural of a monstrous werewolf on one page, a horrible description of the horror's La Bete caused was on the other. "He's been dead for a long, long time, even if his curse is still being passed down through the generations." Chris said. "I've heard of things coming back through spells--dark spells. I don't see why La Bete himself couldn't come back that way. It would make sense why this boy black's out though. There is no separation between the beast and the man, so as the abilities take over so does the dark spirit. When did he loose himself the first time?"

"Seven years ago, apparently for a good two years."

Chris nodded, staring down at the picture of La Bete. "Makes sense. Seven years ago there was a killing spree up North, in the East. From Chicago all the way to Michigan, any Hunter that tried to figure out what was going on and stop it was killed. No information got in or out, until suddenly it stopped. Then there were rumors everywhere about a rampaging werewolf. I thought calling it a beast was just as exaggeration." Suddenly her dad looked tired, and worn. With a heavy sigh he sat down, his face in his hand. "I know a few hunters that had been around during the fallout and can get a detailed report from them. But I'm more than sure his story will hold up."

A shiver ran down Allison's spine. "It seems..."

"Yeah." Chris lowered his hand and looked at her. "While this boy might seem nice and friendly--be careful around him, Allison. At any moment he can snap, then he won't be a nice friendly person. He'll be a rampaging monster."

She nodded tightly. "But..." Chris looked down at the book. "I'm more concerned about the man who can just... tame La Bete. Such a thing is..." Chris shook his head. "I'll look around, see what I can find in the rumor mill--but there are no bestiaries for magic like this. Not unless your going straight to grimoires." He gave her a bleaker smile than she'd seen on his face in a long, long time. "Tell me what the spell he does tonight is like--what his magic feels like, that might help with some of the specialists I know.

"C'mon, kid, let's make some dinner. Monsters and demons can wait for the night."

"I hope your right dad." But she smiled earnestly at him, and they walked towards their kitchen to make dinner. For the moment, the monsters and demons did wait.

* * *

"What are they doing here?" Derek snarled.

"They're here to help, sunshine." Stiles said, giving one of his more infuriating smiles Derek's way. Derek crossed his arms, as if somehow that would keep Stile's gaze from undressing him.

"This is pack business." Derek said, to Scott, who was by far more reasonable. "Get out."

Isaac whimpered next to him. Walking in, the McCall pack smelled like weariness and old lasting happiness and strength. Like sunshine compared to a dead withering tree. He hated it. 

"I invited them." Boyd said, a plea in his scent, strength of an alpha in his voice. "They're staying."

Derek looked to Erica, who was still sleeping gently in his bed, unwakeable, unhealable. With a tight nod, he let it go.

"Progress." A teasing, deep voice whispered into his ear. He snarled, turning on Stiles, who was suddenly getting closer, not pushing away. The man's hands came up to wrap around his middle, giving him a hug that seared his skin through his clothes. Stiles rested his chin on Derek's shoulder, his lips brushing against his ear. "Anger is not the only way to live, Derek. Pain--pain will make you grow, if you just give in and accept it and move past it."

"Get. Away. From. Me." Derek snarled.

Stiles hummed in his ear, and it must have had magic in it because the very sound caused shivers to move up and down his spine, tingles raising the hairs on his arms and legs and neck. " _Jestés mój_." Stiles said, right in his ear. He could feel every breathe Stiles took. "Just remember that. It was true before Kate--and it may be all twisted up and dark after Kate, but it's still true. No matter who we are." He released Derek then, stepping back with a small, nearly butterfly feeling kiss on his ear.

Derek's heart was beating too fast. He looked around to see eyes on him--his pack's eyes, his uncle's eyes, Scott and his beta's eyes. He snarled at them, focusing on a new boy with a strange, savage smell to him. "Who are you?"

"Uh, Mason." The guy said, nodding so his earrings glittered in the light. "Nice to uh, meet you."

"Don't lie now, Mason." Stiles said, voice a cheeky annoyance in his ear. "It's not nice to meet him at all."

"Uh..." Nervousness flavored the air, and Mason looked liked he wanted to melt in the McCall pack.

"O-kay!" Stiles clapped his hands together. "Sourwolf, pick Erica up and put her on the couch. Everyone else, make as wide of a space as you can around the couch--everything gone. Mace? Little help." Derek watched as the two started digging around in the duffel bag Stiles had brought--but turned towards Erica when he realized Stile's jeans were appallingly tight when he bent down.

Erica was still broken and hurt. Deaton had come to put salve on her wounds and splints and castor around the broken bones. Even surrounded by white cast from nearly head to toe, she looked little, fragile. Like the girl he'd first met, with her wide scared eyes and her non existent self-esteem. Back then, things were easier though. Easier than seeing the strength she'd made with his help ripped from her as her body was torn.

He grabbed her ankle, the one not encased in plaster. He thought about gripping it and dragging her towards him so her legs dropped to either side of his hips. He thought about breathing in her scared medicinal smell, whispering about power. Kissing her and gently touching her and showing her what a man's attention and affection felt like before he gave her the strength to take it for herself. Like giving a hungry man a fish before teaching him how to string up the bait, read the tides, and fling the line himself.

If he did that now, she'd break into even smaller pieces and die. A bone fragment could go into her bloodstream. A tear could open up internally. Her swollen brain could slosh around a little too much. Hell, she could even get a seizure again. 

He gently lifted his hand from her ankle. He moved beside her and did everything in his power, used every muscle and all his strength and dexterity to keep her immobile as he held her in his arms. He walked her to the couch and gently laid her down.

Malia and the others had made quick work out of what little furniture Derek had. Now everyone was standing around as Stiles and Mason started to chant in a strange, haltingly harsh language. Mason was waving around burning sage and cypress into the air as Stiles placed candles down onto the floor--carving it's soft sides with a piece of copper, lighting it with a lighter, and then moving onto the next candle. He made a small circle around the couch, just far enough away that Derek felt like he could bitch about the small flames catching the upholstry, and then a larger circle around that. By the time Stiles was done, the sage and cypress had finished burning and the air was smoky and dense with it. Still chanting, Stiles and Mason started to move people where they wanted. 

Boyd was put at Erica's head, inside the smaller circle with her. Derek, Malia, Isaac, Jackson, and Peter were placed around them, between candle circles in even spacing--and then Scott's pack was around them, outside of the outer circle. Mason moved to stand outside of them, placed at Erica's feet between Allison and Kira--while Stiles moved towards Boyd.

Derek smelt cold, then. Smelt darkness and whipping winds and electricity that burned at his nose. He smelt a wild beast, with blood matted hair and hot stinking breathe. He smelt danger--pure danger.

He looked around and saw that all eyes that could glow, were. Standing on the opposite side of the couch, in the outer circle, Scott's red eyes glowed back at his.

And then Stiles did something. He grabbed Boyd's hands and had them caress the top of Erica's head. As soon as there was physical contact the air in the room changed. Stagnation was too simple a word. Lifelessness fit better. Like death. The chanting Mason and Stiles were doing changed, too, the harsh melody becoming viscous, cruel sounding syllables wrapping around themselves, too dissonant from each other to feel like anything but gibberish. But they spoke it together flawlessly, their own made up language made real, made full.

The lights in his apartment didn't turn off, didn't dim, but the darkness swallowed them up. Derek found he couldn't see in front of him, couldn't smell anything but the odd combination of danger. Even pack scents were gone, even the candles seemed distant and far away.

He wanted to close his eyes but he was too scared too. Only the chanting remained.

And then--a scream.

* * *

Lydia felt weird. She rubbed at her arms, trying to get feeling back into her limbs. She felt like she was in a snow storm.

She looked around. Still at the tournament, no one else from her team or the Prep team seemed to have any issue. There was even a little bit of sweat stains on the boy next to her. He was bent over a piece of paper, trying to fill his mind with a simple inverse function before the next round begun. It had been a long weekend of math, and the coach had suggested not trying anything too hard until the actual competition, so their brains would be fresh.

Lydia felt a kind of fear she'd only felt a few times before. A slow creeping fleeing that wasn't so much fear as a transcendence of fear, a fear so deep it wasn't a feeling at all, but a state of mind. An illusion. It was muted at the moment, but she knew it would intensify quickly and she knew this one would be strong. Who was going to die--she had no idea--but she needed to get out of here before she found out.

She shot up out of her seat, only saying "bathroom" before she quickly fled in the direction of the bathroom. Once in the halls of the semi-familiar Beacon Prep--she ran the other way, towards the doors she remembered walking in through. She needed to get outside.

The doors opened and she was in a snow storm. The sound of the heavy metal swinging shut behind her was muted in the dense snow. Heavy sheets of it were falling down relentlessly--gentle, muted, little flakes of individual ice crystals falling from the sky like they didn't have a care in the world. They touched her hair, her bare skin, her clothes with little needles of cold pain. She hugged her arms to herself, trying to remind herself that it was fall--that this was all in her head.

She walked. Arms held tight to her middle in some desperate attempt to keep in her shivers, she moved through the heavy snow. It covered her ankles at first, then she was wadding through it knee deep, then thigh deep. She couldn't feel her limbs anymore.

And then she saw it--the thing calling to her. Walking through the snow like it wasn't a barrier at all, a man strode towards her. Dark hair, skin pale enough to look diseased, with heavy dark circles around his eyes--he nearly ran towards her with a looming speed.

 _You can't kill me_. A man yelled. Maybe the man walking towards her. She had no idea. The voice was everywhere, in her. She had to cover her ears with her numb palms to block out the echoes as it danced across the silent snow.  _You can't kill me!_  

He got close. A mole dotted face. Tattoos. Crazy, wild, evil eyes. He grabbed her and she needed to know what he wanted--so she screamed.

* * *

 

In an instant, the ritual was done. It's the darkest bit of magic he's ever practiced with--and it was supposed to be a lighter, healthier magic than what was put on the two beta's. The feeling of it stuck in his mouth, coated his tongue like black tar. Mason looked around, blinking as if he could get the magic out of his eyes like an eyelash.

The candles flickered out. The lights of the room seemed closer. All the wolves were shaking, all fully shifted except for Scott McCall, whose eyes were bleeding red but otherwise human. The humans of the McCall pack even looked feral. Allison was holding a knife up in front of her, like she'd just plunged it into a stomach. Isaac was holding his own stomach, moaning and snarling as if to keep his intestines in his body. Jackson was on all fours, like a weird offensive crouch that didn't look all that natural. Kira had a sword out, from nowhere, and it pressed to Malia's neck, where Malia was savagely snarling with blue eyes. Derek was looking down at his extended claws like they'd just ripped someone open and he was horrified. Theo was clutching his heart. 

"That..." Mason felt his mouth drop open as he looked for Stiles. 

Stiles was on the floor. He'd knocked a few candles over and was lying in little pools of candle-wax, his eyes bleeding like they were tears. "That is not supposed to happen." He said, watching his teacher start to seize up.

* * *

 

Stiles is unsurprised to find himself awake in his childhood bed. He knew before he even opened his eyes. The bed in the house where his dad lived, where his mom used to live.  Home--before he knew that darkness could grow in someone's heart like a living beast, ready to suffocate everything in it's path. Before he was consumed in void. Home.

He stretched, feeling a sense of  _rightness_.  

“Of course it feels right.” She said. He could smell her perfume now, and feel her soft hair as he buried his face in the fragrant strands. “Why shouldn’t it feel right?” She asked.  

“Because I killed a man?”  _Don't open your eyes_ , he thought desperately,  _don't open your eyes_.

“It wasn’t a man, Stiles. That thing was never a man. All you did was bring the monster to the outside. Made it flesh.”  

He squeezed his eyes shut, knowing that if he opened them, he would remember what it feels like to grow apathetic and use to violence. As if death is something you can get jaded to.

“Do you know what happens to someone, after they die?”  

A laugh. “I do.”  

“I don’t." He tells her what happens to a body when the soul leaves it--what had happened to his mother's body when there was nothing left inside it to keep it going. As if such a simple thing could explain what happens when you die. 

The girl in his bed was dead, he could feel that now, was aware of it. No matter how hard he fought to keep his eyes closed--he couldn't hide from something that was already there. “Are you dead?” He asked.  

“No—but I’m very close to death.”  

“I’m going to have to open my eyes, now. It feels like I’ve been here too long already.” 

He greeted the darkness like the old friend it was. He watched her slowly wither away and turn into a skeleton, unrecognizable. He heard the scream of death, he remembered his mother and her slow, agonized death rattle before she passed away. As it faded, he stood up and walked towards his open bedroom door. He greeted the damp darkness like his friend, like his own personal identity. 

In the darkness there was the oak tree. The tree. The Nemeton. But he wasn't alone this time. He reached out and they grabbed his hands--a big one that engulfed his, and one that fit into his like a tiny little glove. 

He turned to his right. Boyd stood there, strong, stoic, and terrified. He was staring at the tree with wide, glowing gold eyes, tinged just barley in orange that would slowly become bloody.

He turned to his left. Erica stood there, feeble now, but with more inner strength than Stiles had ever seen in someone. Her strength was almost desperate. She wasn't looking at the tree, but at him, a horrified expression on her face.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”  

He turned, to see the man with no heart standing at the roots of the tree. He was grinning now. He'd already won.

 _Du-rach. Du-rach. Du-rach. Du-rach. Du-rach_.

"I'm sorry." Stiles said. "I'm so sorry." Then he led the two betas forward into death.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wuahaha?


	6. Infinite Shades of Grey

**CHAPTER SIX. INFINITE SHADES OF GREY**

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* * *

* * *

* * *

 

Mason waited for Stiles to wake up. He sat, bouncing his leg, staring at his teacher laying on the metal table, still as death. The blood had dried on his face, the faux-tears had stopping when Deaton shoved a bunch of herbs into Stile's mouth and forced it down his throat with some water. He'd worried Stiles would choke, but Deaton had explain, in the weird, cryptic way Druids explained everything, that Stiles was in a magical trance, not actually unconscious. He still had the motor functions to swallow, now that the seizure had stopped. 

"There might be some... complications." Deaton had explained, before leaving the small operating room to go into his office to fill out paperwork. Mason hadn't wanted to ask.

He'd been waiting a good three hours now. His phone was dead and there was no charger in sight--and out of boredom he'd even taken Stile's vape outside, trying to do little oh's with the smoke before that died, too. Now he had nothing to do but watch Stile's breathe. Trace the dried blood on his teacher's face, which trailed down into his ears, across the curves of his cheeks, into the corners of his mouth and down past his chin. He tried not to think of all the blood a person had in their body, about how if he used the scalpel lying on the counter next to him and jabbed it in just the right place, he could see all the blood in Stiles's body slowly leak out without him being about to do a damn thing about it.

A half hour later, Stiles made a low murmur.

Mason shot up, walking over to Stiles as he screwed up his face, squeezing his eyes tightly. "What?" Mason asked, leaning over.

"Light. Off." Stiles hissed. "Bright. Ow."

Mason walked over to the light switch and turned it off, so there was only the hazy light of near dawn gently glowing the high windows of the clinic. he called out for the Druid as he walked back to Stiles's side.

Mason started talking, because he needed to. "Scott dropped us off after you stopped seizing. I think Erica is good. By the time we left she was healing--I don't know when she's going to wake up or if the Hale pack will let anyone know when she wakes up, but yeah, she seemed good. And Boyd too. But everyone was really freaked out by that spell.  _I_ was freaked out by that spell. It was so dark, Stiles. And then you fell over and had that seizure and I started freaking out, and Liam had to help me to focus on other things and... yeah. Everyone was super freaked out."

"The magic itself wasn't dark," The Druid said, walking into the room and flipping the lights on. He ignored Stiles's moan of pain. "Like all magic, it was simply reflective of the nature of its castor. You helped, but all in all it was Mr. Stilinski's magic here that made it so disturbing for everyone involved. They were, for a brief moment, connected to him as he used them for conduit and stability."

"Chaos." Stiles said, voice a little clearer. He laughed then, deep and dark and making Mason remember the scalpel sitting on the table, only a few feet away and oh so sharp. "Pain. Strife."

"All things that you should be avoiding, Mr. Stilinski." Deaton said, always the patient, neutral reminder.

"Why did you have the seizure?" Mason asked.

"My guess is that the balance was tipped when he broke the connection between Boyd and Erica. That while connected to everyone, he shadow-broke everyones own connections to the world, or maybe accented a particular connection that was volatile in nature."

"Guess again." Stiles said, grinning. He had his forearm slung over his eyes, so Mason could only see his grinning mouth. A bit of blood had leaked down to stain his teeth.

"I do not play your games, Mr. Stilinski."

Stiles shot up quickly, looking a little wild and demented. His eyes huge, heavy red bags under them, he nearly shouted, "Whoever spelled it trapped it--and the second it broke the frayed ends clung to me. Their connected to  _me_ now. Me."

Deaton stood calmly a few feet away. "Get out of my clinic, Mr. Stilinski, and get a hold of yourself before you loose Mason, as well as your soul."

Stiles hopped off the table with ease, grabbing the jacket that had been flung over a chair. "C'mon, Macey!" Stiles shouted, as he walked quickly towards the waiting room of the clinic. "We got shit to do!"

"Uh... bye, Mr. Deaton." Mason said lamely, moving to follow Stiles.

"Mason." He stopped at Deaton's quiet, soft voice. The man's face had no emotion on it. "Be careful to not trust a tainted connection, even if that connection is your only lifeline to humanity."

"Yeah, sure." Mason nodded.

"Mace!"

"I gotta go. You have a good morning, Dr. Deaton." He followed Stiles out into the early dawn.

* * *

Allison came home crying. She rushed into her dad's office, where the light was still on, peaking under the closed door. He looked up as she came in, and by the time he walked around his desk she was across the room, flinging herself into his arms. "Oh--god. Dad. Dad."

He shushed her. Made soothing sounds, rubbed her hair down and held her tight. "It's okay, Allison. It's okay. Whatever it is, your okay. Shhh." She cried into his shoulder, relieved to be home, relieved to be away from that awful pressure, even though it was inside her now. A horrible, cruel feeling deep in her chest. It was like she'd gone crazy again, ready to enjoy her murdering vendetta. Ready to kill and slaughter because she was scared of being scared, and because she was hurt, and because it felt  _good_. Only she knew better now--knew where those feelings led her. They were wrong. But she couldn't get them out, couldn't get rid of the feeling of them.

"Hey, hey tell me what's wrong." Chris grabbed either side of her face, tilting her head up to him. She took comfort in his familiar, lined face. "What happened?"

"We-we did that spell. To help Erica and Boyd. And... and it was so scary, Dad. It was so dark. I started--started--" He pushed her back into her chest as she sobbed. And when she was done, he kept her there, comforting her with a gentle rocking motion. "What if I'm not the strong person I want to be?" She whispered into his chest, just needing to get this feeling out. "What if I always try to be strong, but I can't do it without turning into Kate?"

"You will never be Kate." Chris vowed. "Never."

"But--"

"You are strong, Allison. Your own, independent strength. You aren't malicious, or cruel, your kind and supportive and you do so much to help others. Maybe if feels like your not strong, but I can see it. I know damn well other's feel it and lean on that strength."

Allison squeezed her eyes shut, and tried to believe it, even with the traitorous feelings still in her.

* * *

 

They found Lydia outside. Called the ambulance because her screams had gotten so loud they thought she was having a nervous breakdown. She didn't contradict them, but sat and waited for the EMTs to arrive, then set and waited in the back of the ambulance as it drove to Beacon Memorial. Melissa would be there, she'd help Lydia, till then, Lydia sat and waited.

Her visions usually depicted a death. Or an enemy, the killer, usually. She'd have to peace together what the sounds of it all meant and by the time she did the death had already happened. But this vision had been so strong that she knew who the killer was. A man with whisky colored eyes, deeply bruised and diseased, and moles that dotted his face. He was going to kill them all.

* * *

Apparently "shit to do" meant getting high. Mason watched as Stiles made a b-line towards one of the many boxes in the room, hauling out the necessities. He chose Oh Dae-su, named after a creepy Korrean horror movie Stiles absolutely loved but Mason couldn't watch without getting triggered into Le Bete. He'd never figured out why Stiles had named it that, he'd never asked. Usually, it was the go-to bong to calm him down from his more manic episodes, when the Nigitsune part of him was too close to the surface.

Then came the ounce of indica. The grinder. The screens. The poker. The lighter. Mason walked into the kitchen as Stiles set up the bowl, knowing better than to interrupt Stiles while he was like this. There was nothing in the fridge that didn't need to be cooked, and he couldn't cook. He slammed the fridge shut and walked out to watch Stiles clear Oh Dae-su over and over again, till the bowl was ass and he was loading another one. After the second bowl, he changed strands, and then after that started to slow down. He set Oh Dae-su aside, his eyes cherry red but otherwise normal looking, no heavy bags, no creepy malicious intent. Just high mind and high sailing. He smiled very faintly at Mason, an apology, maybe.

"We should have you meditate. I feel like now more than ever you'll start needing your own control."

Mason couldn't disagree, but he felt like there was something unsaid in the statement. It felt like Stiles was the one slipping, going deeper and deeper into his darker side. It had been over a year since Mason had seen him use Oh Dae-su--a year since that awful run in with a Banshee that had given the Nigitsune just enough push into death to have Stiles loose it.

And there was a Banshee in Beacon Hills, wasn't there?

He sat across from Stiles, crossing his legs on the floor. He put both hands on his knees, with his palms facing upward. "Let's go." He said, and closed his eyes.

* * *

Scott couldn't sleep. He decided to pack up some leftovers and bring his mom some food for her version of a midnight snack at dawn. The walk there would do him some good, clear his mind.

The spell had unlocked something in him. He felt suffocated by his skin. The moon was already waning up in the sky, curbing the stronger need to run and hunt and attack--but it took all his concentration not to jump at a jogger coming down the street for making too much eye contact. Took all his will not to reach to his phone and call Kira for a quick fuck. He knew she wouldn't want to right now, not after what the spell had done to her. She'd been so scared of herself, of the powers she couldn't control, of the fox inside of her, that she'd fled nearly as fast as Allison had. Which really pissed him off. She was his girlfriend. She was supposed to be better than Allison, was supposed to give him more, understand his needs. He understood that she had her own needs to fill right now, that she needed her own things--but he couldn't get rid of his anger.

Walking deeper into his territory did nothing. Jackson often came over here to get to his dealer's house--something Scott had never minded before, but it rubbed him raw, smelling another pack. A pack that should be  _his_ pack. Derek was a terrible Alpha. And Scott wasn't--he was the True Alpha, a man made to lead. Jackson should be his. So should the three betas and Malia. If Scott was Alpha, he'd banish Peter from Beacon Hills. He'd make an actual treaty with the Argent Hunters. Would do regular patrols around town to see if any supernaturals had crossed into the land recently. He would be so much better.

By the time he got to the hospital he just got more worked up. He could barely keep his growl under control as he smelled the too cold, clinically clean smell of the hospital. It was nauseating--and there were too many people around. A doctor that was too preoccupied with the med notes in his hand slammed his shoulder into Scott, and Scott had turn away from him quickly to hide his eyes, to keep in the snarl. He went straight to the elevator and impatiently waited for it to come to him as a blind man stood beside him, apparently aware enough to know he had to wait, too.

They walked into the elevator, Scott punching in the third level as the blind man's thickly accented voice said, "Third level, please."

"Yeah. Got it." Scott snapped, leaning against the back of the elevator as it started to go up. 

The blind man smelled. Scott couldn't quiet figure out what the smell was, not behind all the cologne the man wore, but it was thick and feral and twisted, a little bit more like Stiles--like the dark magic that he had felt earlier tonight--than his liking.

The elevator opened and as Scott was about to leave, the blind man held his arm out. In his strange voice he asked, "Care to help me find the station desk?"

Scott wanted to refuse. He wanted to take the growl riding low in his throat and shove it into the man's blind face. Instead, he let the blind man put his hand on Scott's arm and led him towards the circulation desk, already heading that way anyway. "Bit strange, isn't it?" The blind man said. "I'd planned on having your friend's betas in that vault for at least three months. The witch I coerced said the wards protecting it were fool-proof. But alas, that's what you get for hired help." At first Scott had no idea what he was saying. He was too pissed off at being there, surrounded by so many people, by the smell of antiseptic and sickness. He realized it was a mistake, going to the hospital instead of running in the woods. But then the words sank in, and he realized this man was literally admitting to taking Erica and Boyd. 

He couldn't hold it in. He felt his claws itch out, felt a need to lead this blind man outside where it was safe to release his anger. Scott had never seen the guy before, had no idea why he had plans to hire a witch just to hold in three betas--why he would even go so far as it have one of them killed, because three months in that vault  _would_ have killed Erica. Hell, she'd almost died after a few days.

"Now now, no need to growl, Scott. I had heard you have better control than that." The man tisked. He smelled... like Alpha under all that cologne. How had Scott not noticed that? No smell was enough to block the smell of one of his own.

"What do you want?" Scott asked, voice low.

"What everyone wants, Scott. Power." A hulking form came out of nowhere, bigger than anyone Scott had ever seen before and bald. It was obvious that the new guy was an Alpha, his scent not covered by anything. It was strong and disgusting, made the hair on his arms stand up, made his fangs uncontrollably slide down their gums. There was something wrong and unnatural about them both. "This is my associate," The blind man said, grabbing the guy's arm. "Ennis, why don't you say hi?"

In a second, the Alpha, Ennis, was transformed into his Beta form. Not caring if anyone in the sparse hall saw, he snarled.

"Who are you?" Scott asked.

"We are karma," The blind man said, as Ennis shifted back. "And we are coming to collect." 

Scott watched, furious, helpless, as the two Alphas walked back into the elevator and left. He was still standing there as his mom found him, her hand coming to rest on his arm right where the blind wolf had touched. He didn't mean to snarl at her, didn't want to, but it was out before he could stop himself.

"Stop it." Melissa shot out, already dragging him towards the rooms. "I know your worried, but she's okay."

"What?" He followed his mom past the circulation desk--where she grabbed the leftovers and flung it--before they moved down the halls.

"Your friend? Lydia? I thought that's why you came here? She was admitted a few hours ago for a nervous break down, I managed to divert the psych's away. Though we will have to pretend to up her meds." Melissa worried her lip as they walked into room 324. "She had one of her visions."

"Not a vision," Lydia said, sitting in her normal clothes on a bed. She put down her phone as she glared at them. "I'm not psychic--but I saw something." She looked at Scott, frowning. "You did too. You looked wired--Scott, what's wrong?"

Melissa was suddenly looking at him, and he squirmed under their combined gazes. "Nothing--just, we dad that spell to release Boyd and Erica and it freaked me out. Stiles's magic is..." He frowned, trying to think of a word. All he could think of though, was Theo's warning about Stiles and Mason, about how dangerous they were.

"What's he look like?" Lydia asked, voice sharp enough to have him look at her, worrying.

"I don't know, bit like a dude from a biker gang?" Scott asked, confused and angry. "Moles on his face, sometimes they angry bags under his eyes. Brown hair, lots of tattoos."

"Scott... that's the guy whose going to kill us." Lydia said.

* * *

 

Derek sat with Isaac on the couch. They were both watching Liam--who had been tied to one of the kitchen stools--as he trashed and twisted, too out of control from the spell to leave.

"Erica?" Derek asked, even though he can hear her steady heart beat, smell her healing. Derek just needed that confirmation.

"She's good," Isaac said, after a second. "Boyd too." They were both upstairs, taking a rest in one of the spare bedrooms Derek had reserved for visitors.

Derek nodded, watched Liam thrash and roar out his little mantra, "The sun!" He roared, golden eyes glowing, arms and legs straining against the chains and restrains that Derek had last used on Erica. "The moon!" The stool trembled. It wouldn't hold out much longer. "The truth!"

"The truth." Derek sneered. He thought of the magic he'd just felt souring the air. It had affected them all differently. Isaac sat trembling against him, leaning on Derek's weight. Malia was still uncontrollable, nearly snapping Peter's head off as Jackson slithered on the ground like he was still a kanima. Derek though... had felt good after. He felt calmer and cleaner than he had since he'd been Alpha. He leaned on the couch, watching Liam's anger like an old friend he could recognize but not relate to anymore. "Fuck the truth." Derek said, sighing.

* * *

It was early enough in the morning that when Stiles walked into the highschool, there was no students around. He found the classroom Mason had said the Darach was in no problem.

She was a normal looking female, brown hair and pale skin, attractive, if you were into female energy. He walked into her room, watching her bend over to look at files, before noticing his figure. Her smile was confused, when she turned to him. "Hello," She said, "How can I help you?"

"You're glamour is fantastic," Stiles said, instead of saying hello. He walked further into the room, feeling her dark energy fill the place as he leaned against one of the ridiculous desks highschoolers were forced to sit in. "It must take a lot of energy." He commented. "To cover up all that ugly."

"At least I'm still human." She said, all pretense of politeness dropped. The sneer on her face didn't match the glamoured pretty woman she had on, but rather the demented, twisted thing he could see under it, with the heavy claw marks and the scars. Not that a torn mouth without lips could actually sneer. 

"For now." Stiles crossed his ankles. "The way your going, I'd think it'd be gone in about, oh, what, twelve sacrifices?"

She snorted, leaned against her own desk. "How'd you know?"

"The treefold death is the only way I can think of to build up all  _this_ power," He held up his hands, feeling her remedial power that was all being channeled just so she could look human, hole, and grasped it with his own. She gasped as he said, "Into something worthy of revenge." He let her go, seeing her sway under his power. "That is what your here for, right? Why else would a Druid turn Darach?"

"What do you want?" She hissed, holding her chest.

"I've had a dream--a recurring one." Stiles admitted. "I get them quiet often, when a Banshee is near. Something about the death..." He trailed off, then smiled. "In it, there is this tree--"

"The Nemeton." She possessively hissed.

He nodded. "And a man I'm going to kill. I've met him, but I can't see why I'm going to kill him yet. Apparently he's a monster--not that that matters. In the dream he's there, under the tree, dead and all, and he's chanting your name." He paused, waiting. When she said nothing he whispered, "Du-rach. Du-rach. Du-rach."

"You haven't answered me." She hissed.

"Mostly because that's all I have. I wanted to meet you, I suppose. Figure out how your tied into my dreams--but obviously you have no idea yourself if your this confused. I came to this town for the Nemeton, just like you. Only I have all the power--and you have none of it. So," He uncrossed his ankles, stood up. "I'm here, I guess, for some professional decorum. One dark magic user to another--game on." 

He held up his hand and kissed it, pulsing some magic into his palm. When he blew, he focused on the little ball of magical energy, having it shoot directly at her. She fell back against her desk, not able to hold her glamour anymore. Her dead, scarred body fell back onto her desk, unconscious and ready for any student or teacher that walked by to see her true face.

He spelled her, to track her--then walked out whistling a tune.

**Author's Note:**

> If anyone will read this, ill post new chapter no later than a day or two apart. 
> 
> Very AU. It follows the cannon okay but the characters r altered to my own purposes and the timeline is different. Basically im going to make it so scott, stiles, the Beta 3 (erica, isaac, and boyd) lydia and allison are all dereks age. The rest are still og teenagers. Stiles is not the son of the sheriff and has been studying magic. Mason was born with as The Beast (spoilers? Probs not) and started studying magic because stiles is made to be his keeper to control the alter ego, and he teaches mason along with way.


End file.
